


Lord Reaper Jon

by Raizn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Greyjoy Rebellion, Colonialism, Empire Building, F/M, Ironborn Culture & Customs, Kingdom building, Multi, Political Jon Snow, R Plus L Equals J, Smart Jon Snow, Wildling Culture & Customs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 46
Words: 171,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raizn/pseuds/Raizn
Summary: Stannis Baratheon dies in the sea battle off Fair Isle.King Robert Baratheon therefore decides to reconcile with his enstranged brother in all but blood and starts with giving Ned’s natural son the Lordship of the defeated Iron Islands.Jon has to convince the Ironborn to acknowledge him as their liege, to reform their society and expand their power on land and on sea.
Relationships: Asha Greyjoy/Jon Snow, Jon Snow/Jeyne Westerling, Jon Snow/Other(s), Jon Snow/Val
Comments: 850
Kudos: 1065





	1. King Robert's Verdict (Ned I)

> “Robert should have scoured the isles after Balon Greyjoy rose against him ... He smashed their fleet, burned their towns and broke their castles, but when he had them on their knees, he let them up again. He should have made another island of their skulls.”
> 
> A Feast for Crows, Cersei VII.

The castle of Pyke was an impressive construction. Ancient Pyke was originally built on a cliff jutting out into the sea, but over time the cliff had eroded, leaving the castle's keeps and towers standing on three barren islands and a dozen small stacks of rock, surrounded by water. The towers were connected by swaying rope bridges. The keep, its towers, and walls were made of the same grey-black stone of which the rest of the island is composed. In the thousands of years, the castle had stood, it had become covered with green lichen giving it an eerie feeling.

Ned, better known as Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, stood in the middle of the long, smoky Great Hall in the Great Keep of Pyke, his long sword in his right hand colored red from blood. The legendary Seastone Chair was facing him, located on the dais at the far end of the hall. It was made of a block of oily black stone carved into the shape of a kraken. According to the legend it was found on the shores of Old Wyk by the First Men when they came to settle on the Iron Islands thousands of years ago.

Balon Greyjoy, the Lord Reaver of Pyke, was crowned with a driftwood crown not even a few moons ago and proclaimed himself King of the Iron Islands believing that King Robert I Baratheon might not have the strong support of the other lords the way that the Targaryen kings before had after he took the throne through a rebellion himself. He especially seemed to have thought that he could defeat Robert's fleets at sea.

The Ironmen began his rebellion with the burning of the Lannister fleet at anchor and a surprise attack on Lannisport in the Westerlands led by his brother, Victarion, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. Afterwards followed raids and attacks on the coast of Ironman’s Bay and the northern Westerlands.

Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and the Master of Ships, had joined the royal fleet with the Redwyne fleet from the Arbor and ships from Oldtown. They had then caught and smashed the Iron Fleet under Victarion Greyjoy in the Straits of Fair Isle. Sadly, the leader of the victorious side hadn’t been able to witness his great triumph that had changed the tide of the war and initiated the absolute defeat of the Ironmen. His ship, the _Fury_ , had been rammed in the side by the _Silence_ , the personal galley captained by Euron Greyjoy who was Balon’s oldest brother. The stationary flag ship had been ripped apart in the middle. Its remnants had swiftly vanished into the depths, dragging its commander and many other brave men with it.

Aeron and Victarion, Balon’s youngest brothers, had been captured after the Battle of Fair Isle. Euron himself had apparently fled like a coward from the retaliation of the Baratheons and Lannisters with his ship and crew.

The final battle had just ended on the island of Pyke, led by Robert and Ned. The nearby Botley castle had been swiftly destroyed, together with the town of Lordsport beneath it, before the main attack on the castle of Pyke had been launched. The royal forces had assaulted the southern wall with siege engines, shattering the main watchtower and bringing parts of the surrounding wall down. Thoros of Myr, a Red Priest, had been the first through the breach wielding a sword coated in wildfire.

By now, all islands except the far-off archipelago around Lonely Light were already occupied by the mainlanders.

Balon Greyjoy now stood alone before King Robert I Baratheon, flanked by two of his Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, and Ser Mandon Moore, clothed in their white armor with white cloaks.

Balon was thin and gaunt with a hard face. He had black eyes with long grey hair flecked with white that hangs past the small of his back. Even before his impending doom he did not seem to cower.

King Robert on the other side had the classical Baratheon look: black hair and bright blue eyes. He was a very tall man; Ned estimated his height to be around six and a half feet. He was strong and powerful, how a king should look. He slightly leaned on his trusted giant war hammer that once smashed into Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and won him the Iron Throne.

It was clear for all people in the Great Hall, under them Ned and other main contributors of the campaign like Lord Paxter Redwyne and Lord Jason Mallister that this was the end of Balon’s short reign. The remaining young Greyjoy children Theon and Asha were held by tightly by a few men on the side. The dark-haired children looked frightened and had tears in their eyes. Their sibllings, Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy were dead. Rodrik had been slain in the Riverlands, Maron crushed by a collapsing tower just hours before.

_They shouldn't be here_ , Ned thought. This situation reminded him too much of the Throne Room of King's Landing. The bodies of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon wrapped in red cloth were destined to never leave his nightmares.

“You cannot name me traitor, stag!” Balon spoke with a proud face. "I never swore fealty to you, someone who took his crown through war as well.”

Ned hated the man.

_So much lives lost, for nothing…_

Robert let out a mad laugh.

_Stannis’ death is affecting him quiet a lot_.

The brothers had never been very close from what he remembered, but they were brothers, nonetheless.

_Now’s not the time for revenge, but for reconciliation._

“Ha! Don’t take me for a fool, squid,” Robert boomed. “Kingslayer!”

Ser Jaime Lannister’s seemingly always present smirk vanished. “Your Grace?”

The member of the Kingsguard was a tall, handsome man, with curled hair the color of beaten gold and flashing cat-green eyes. His originally white mantle was spotted with red flecks of blood.

_A murderer, stabbing the King he had sworn to protect in the back._ That was Ned’s impression of the man.

“It is time to prove how you earned your name,” Robert said. “Another king for your collection. Defenseless, how you want it, no?”

All of a sudden Balon paled and went on his knees. “Your Grace! I may have spoken hastily…”

“Father!” Asha and Theon screamed with tears in their eyes from the side.

A few struggles and the blade of the now double Kingslayer falling later, the Greyjoy Rebellion of 289 AC was over. The two children continued to wail until they were dragged out.

Ned was conflicted. Balon Greyjoy as a traitor deserved his death. However, Asha and Theon shouldn’t have seen their father killed. They were just innocent children.

_At least they are still alive, unlike Rhaenys and Aegon…_

“Your Grace, what is now to be done with the Iron Islands?” Lord Jason Mallister asked who stood to Ned’s left. “Young Theon here is Balon’s last remaining son. Is he the new Lord of the Isles?”

Lord Jason was a tall and lean man with brown hair and fierce blue-grey eyes. He had a gaunt, chiseled face with high cheekbones. He looked exhausted. The storming of the castle with its different islets had lasted for hours after all. Ned respected Jason for he was known for his courtesy and his honor.

Balon's oldest son Rodrik Greyjoy had been slain by Lord Jason during the storming of Seagard, the keep of House Mallister. Seagard was also located at the coast of Ironman’s Bay, close to the Isles. The man had a vested interest in their future.

Robert surprisingly made a thoughtful face. After almost a half a minute he suddenly looked up and smiled at Ned. “Ned, you know what? I think it is time to reward you, as my best friend and brother in all but blood! I lost Stannis, I don’t want to lose you, too. I know we had our differences, but this war showed me how much I missed you.”

Ned was intrigued like most of the present nobles. What kind of idea did Robert have now? He had a foreboding feeling and the fingers on his sword tightened their grip.

“Ahem… by my right as King of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and you know it all…,” Robert boomed for all to here. “I hereby declare that the House Greyjoy has lost their right to govern these rocks. The new Lord of Pyke and the Iron Islands shall be Lord Eddard Starks naturalborn son, Jon – that’s his name, isn’t it, Ned?”

_What?_

“Robert,” Ned said aghast, completely shocked. “This isn’t appropriate! Jon has no connection to the Ironmen, and he’s a bastard to boot. They would never accept him. He is only six too, not even close to being of age!”

Affirmative loud murmuring followed this statement from all sides.

“Ehhh… don’t worry,” Robert replied swiftly. “He can wed Balon’s squid daughter when he’s older. And then he shall take over as the Lord properly! Ha, this King of yours has thought of everything!”

Ned was silent. This _was indeed_ an amazing opportunity for Jon. Ned did not have a plan for Jon’s future himself in mind yet. A second Lord Paramount of Stark blood also opened many possibilities for the North. An end of all or at least most Ironmen raids would additionally be without a doubt a great boon for all of Westeros.

“He shall take a new name for himself and his new House,” Robert decreed.

Robert’s actions clearly showed that he didn’t know, but Ned couldn’t help but get nervous. If Jon left for Pyke, he couldn’t protect him anymore.

_I can’t tell either of them_ , he resolved. _It could be this war all over again._

“Until the power turnover regency should be taken over by someone competent. The sanest Lord alive on these islands, is there even someone like that?” Robert asked with loud laughter which was mirrored by many men in the hall. The war had left behind a deep hatred between the Ironmen and the people of the mainland.

After some debate, it was decided that Lord Rodrik Harlaw should be the one to govern the Iron Islands temporarily. The Maester of Pyke, Qualen, said that Lord Rodrik had unsuccessfully attempted to dissuade Balon from rebelling. Rodrik's sister Alannys was also wed to Lord Balon Greyjoy making him the uncle of the future Lady of the Irons Islands, Asha Greyjoy, for which he would be responsible. Additionally, a loyal servant to the crown would oversee the Iron Islands.

Ned offered to take Theon Greyjoy as a ward. Maybe Jon could befriend the mourning boy and learn from him about the Iron Islands and their culture to be better prepared for his future role. Theon would then be sent to take the Black when Jon received his Lordship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first try to write a story. All critisicm and advice is appreciated.
> 
> I will use metric units because I have imagination problems with feet and miles as a German.
> 
> I wish to warn any potential readers that Jon will be/turn quite OOC compared to the books (and especially the TV show). His most fundamental characteristics are changed by the premise.
> 
> Also be warned that this story depicts sexual scenes without or with doubtful consent (rape), partly done by Jon himself without evil intentions.


	2. Shocking News (Jon I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recieves the news about his future and tries to hist best to prepare himself.

Winterfell was the seat of House Stark and a huge castle complex spanning several acres, the biggest in the North, defended by two massive walls of grey granite with a wide moat between them. The outer wall was 25 meters high, while the inner wall reaching 30 meters, with a wide moat between them. There were guard turrets on the outer wall and more than thirty watch turrets on the crenelated inner walls.

Currently, the six name day old Jon was waiting together with his brother Robb, his sister Sansa and Lady Stark with the newborn Arya in her ams in the courtyard of Winterfell.

Jon had inherited the dark hair and grey eyes of the Starks. Everyone else in his attending family had the red hair and blue eyes of the Tullys from Lady Stark with the exception of the babe.

They had already received a message from Father that he was finally coming back after defeating the rebellious Ironborn. It had now been about half a year since Lord Eddard Stark had departed for the south.

Jon was looking forward to seeing him again. he had missed Father very much over the last months. Lady Stark wasn't very nice to him and he got often ignored by her.

“There they are!” Robb yelled tugging at Jon and pointing into the distance.

Jon couldn’t identify the dark blobs on the horizon, but he knew that it must be a long caravan moving towards Winterfell on the main road. It had to be Father with his bannerman.

A felt _eternity_ later the procession finally arrived. Father was riding in front with a wide smile expression on his face. The only reason Jon and Robb were standing patiently at their spots and not moving towards him was Lady Stark's stern voice. Lady Stark was scary.

Father went down from his horse and opened his arms. Robb, Sansa and Jon immediately started running towards him for a big group hug.

“I can barely recognize you three. Look how much you have grown.”

Afterwards he went over to Lady Stark with Arya. “And this must be my new favorite daughter, no? Looking like a true Stark. Hehe!”

“Father!” Sansa yelled in mock outrage, but she was smiling nevertheless.

“Now I want you to present someone,” Father said stretching his hand out towards a young dark-haired boy. He seemed to be a at least three years older than Jon. “This is Theon Greyjoy. He will be our ward for the next few years until he joins the Night’s Watch. I hope you all can form a good relationship with each other.”

Jon looked at the responses of the other present. Robb had a big smile on his face and went to Theon with his hand out to introduce himself. Sansa looked intrigued. Lady Stark suddenly had a rather cold expression on her face. Jon remembered that Lady Stark was from the Riverlands that were victims one of the Ironmen's attacks. She also wore her extreme dislike of them rather open over the last few months. Not surprising considering the North and all other Kingdoms were at war with them, he supposed.

Lady Stark then gestured towards the Great Hall. “How about we go inside and celebrate everyone’s return and the victory after everyone is accommodated?”

* * *

The feast was in full swing. Many Lords of the North and their men had accompanied Father.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was filled like never before in Jon's life. Everywhere was beer flowing down the throats of armed men. Jon himself didn't really like beer and also wasn't allowed to drink it. It always make him cough anyway. He and Robb were however given a small cup of sweet wine to drink because fo the special occasion.

The man called “Greatjon” was especially boisterous and told exciting tales of the war with him and his siblings trying to soak up every word. Jon wasn’t quite sure if he could believe that the Lord Umber seized a watch tower alone by throwing all the Ironmen out of the windows – with his bare hands. He looked rather strong though and nobody outed him as a liar.

All of a sudden Father stood up. “Jon, join me in the solar." He seemed rather serious.

On the entire way Jon tried his hardest to think what Father wanted to talk about. He and Robb were normally only called to their solar alone if they did something bad.

_I’m getting replaced by this Theon! Am I not needed anymore?_

“Sit!” Father ordered without showing any emotion and Jon immediately followed. Robb called this 'the Lord Stark face'. And that usually didn't mean a good thing for him.

“Jon, tell me about your future,” he spoke. “What do you want to do when you are grown up?”

Jon was quite puzzled. This question came out of nowhere. He had never really thought about this seriously. Jon tried to come up with something anyway.

“Ehhh… I guess… I want to be an amazing swordsman,” he stammered. “And a Lord…”

Swordsmen were amazing. Everyone wanted to become a great warrior, no? And Father was a Lord. He knew Robb would be a Lord in the future, that’s what everyone said at least. Jon wanted to be like Father and Father was both an amazing swordsman and a Lord. Jon always dreamed about being the Lord of Winterfell. He had also heard suggestions from LadyStark that he should join the honorable Night's Watch at the Wall where his Uncle Benjen lived.

“Well, that fits rather well.” His father smiled, but Jon recognized that it wasn't a warm one like usual. “You know, King Robert rewarded me for my good work in the war. He decided that you, Jon, as my blood, will become the next Lord of the Iron Islands.”

Jon didn’t react. He couldn't even move. He felt like he was in a dream for one his greatest dream seemingly would be fullfilled, somewhat.

_This isn’t real. Also… aren’t the Ironmen evil savages?_

“I know it’s sudden and I didn’t expect it either Jon,” his father continued. “Honestly… this kind of appointment at your age... Completely regardless of your status this is unprecedented in the history of Westeros.”

Jon heard the words Father spoke but he didn’t seem to be able to comprehend them.

“I know this is a bit much for now, Jon, but don’t worry. You still have lot of time here in Winterfell left. You will only become Lord when you become of age. Then you will also wed Lady Asha Greyjoy, Theon’s older sister to cement your rule.”

_Wed?!?_

* * *

After accepting, more or less, his seemingly planned out future Jon strived to do the best he could. He knew that he was given a great opportunity. An opportunity that he had to take with all vigor he had. He wanted to make his family and the King proud.

Father educated Robb and him how to be a great Lord. As his oldest trueborn son Robb would be the next Lord of Winterfell after Father, Jon now understood. He and Robb had already promised to each other to stand side-by-side no matter what in the future when they wouldn't see each other anymore. They would be ruling over two regions with a historical rivalry.

Robb and Jon had to sit in the Great Hall when Lord Stark received petitions and made judgements. Afterwards all three often discussed their thought on the topics of the day. Father was trying to teach them the principle of “honour”. Jon vowed himself to be a great honourable Lord in the future.

Jon also tried to be as attentive as possible in the lessons with Maester Luwin. Maester Luwin even gave him extra lessons on the Iron Islands. Jon managed to memorize all noble houses and important locations of his future lands and read many books about its history.

Through his history literature Jon came to some significant conclusions by himself: _My future vassals are mostly wildlings with boats, and this “iron price” is totally stupid._

He knew from Old Nan’s that wildlings respected strength above all else. And the same seemed to be true about the Ironborn, as the Ironmen called themselves.

Following this personal revelation, he decided that he had to spend a big part of his time on the training yard.

_I have to be the strongest I can be. I can’t look weak, ever._

If Robb trained three hours, Jon trained four. If Robb trained five hours, Jon trained six.

Soon he started to beat Robb more and more often in their sparring matches. And he was also outperforming him in Maester Luwin’s lessons. The more however he shook off Robb in educational aspects the farther they grew apart. They didn’t spend as much time together as in the past when they were inseparable. Robb was now often together with Theon Greyjoy while Jon was otherwise occupied. Jon and Robb still had a great relationship nonetheless.

Jon and Theon on the other side hated each other until Jon understood Theon’s frustration and only disliked the older boy's attitude towards him.. Theon was about to be banished towards the wall. His family was almost completely wiped out. And Jon had inherited everything that seemed to make up Theon Greyjoy’s identity. Jon would take his inheritance. Jon would take his sister as wife to continue the Greyjoy line while Theon got nothing. That's why Theon often lashed out against Jon. In the beginning Jon was often hurt and sometimes cried. But after he understood their situation he began to ignore Theon rather successfully.

There was no point in fighting. Theon was going to take Black in a few years anyway. Jon didn’t like sensless fighting and bloodshed like most of the Ironborn did. Once the Ironborn controlled vast lengths of the Westerosi coastland, but over time they were pushed out by the stronger more advanced Kingdoms of the mainland. For Jon, it seemed that in the end the Ironborn tended to generally lose a lot more than they gained.

Lady Stark was never especially affectionate towards him until the news about Jon’s future Lordship. She had mostly ignored him and helped him occasionally with his problems if it wasn’t inconvenient for her. After Father came back she suddenly turned ice cold. She even tried to drive a wedge between Jon and his half-siblings - without much success. At least Lady Stark taught him and his half-siblings how to swim in the lake of the Godswood in Winterfell. Swimming was an essential skill on the Iron Islands.

Sansa and Jon didn’t really interact with each other anymore because of Lady Stark's influence. His younger sister Arya banished any loneliness in his heart though. Father always said Arya was his Aunt Lyanna come again. She apparently had too much “Wolf’s Blood” in her veins and tended to be uncontrollable.

* * *

“I am Elissa Farman!” Arya yelled with a wide smile on her face. She was five years old currently and adored her female heroes. She wanted to be like them, respected for her great deeds. She wore breeches again.

 _Probably Bran’s. Lady Stark is going to flip out again_ , thought Jon while giggling.

“Well, then I am the Sea Snake,” said Jon.

Corlys Velaryon was known as the greatest seafarer in the World. Jon kind of wanted to be like him, visiting exotic places and cultures in lands beyond Westeros.

“Well then," continued Arya "I, the Captain, also name this vessel _The Ice Dragoness_.”

“I don’t believe the Winterfell fleet was ever stronger, Captain,” Jon said while laughing. “Are you ready? Nobody has ever crossed this sea before as far as we know. On three… One, two… three!”

Jon and Arya ran towards the edge of the water and jumped on their vessel: a dozen thick branches tied together to make a primitive raft. It even had a vertical twig fixed to the deck with a flag showing a rather badly sewn Stark direwolf.

“It’s working Jon. Paddle now!” Half a minute later it was done. The first crossing of the lake in the weirwood of Winterfell.

“We are true seafarers now too!” Arya and Jon were sitting on the opposite shore now, their clothes wet from the water splashing. “When we are grown up, we will explore all oceans that exist, won’t we, Jon?”

“Of course, we will. I promise.”

* * *

Shortly after his tenth name day Jon received a letter, one of countless more to come.

_Dear Jon,_

_We haven't met yet, but I am Lord Rodrik Harlaw, the current regent of the Iron Isles._

_Considering that in about six years you are going to wed my dearest nice Asha and take the mantle as Lord Reaper of Pyke I would like to try to help prepare yourself._

_My folk is clinging like many others to their traditions and once again it has hurt them severely. As you see I am not a friend of the Old Ways. Raiding the Seven Kingdoms is not a sustainable lifestyle in our times and is always going to bite us back in the end._

_Having said that, I believe that you and Asha are a chance for the Ironborn. Fresh blood and ideas that could lead us to a new prosperous future._

_Without a doubt you have already prepared yourself, but I must warn you exactly for that reason:_ _Currently no proud Ironborn will take orders from you, no matter your strength or wit. The most important thing for every Ironborn is reputation. Without reputation you are nothing. Your primary task for the future is therefore to make yourself a name. I have received updates about you from Lord Stark and I hope you understand that this won't be easily done but we both have great confidence in you anywy._

_Asha already captains her own longship, the “Black Wind”, which I gifted her. She seems rather happy right now. Maybe you should meet your betrothed? Or at least write her. Beware though, she is rather willful. She has it from her mother, my sister Alannys._

_As an update on your future lands:_

_I managed to establish some ironwood trade with help of Lord Stark between the western North and Lys and Dorne that I am sure you are aware of._

_Almost all of the important damaged structures of Isles have been repaired and put in an acceptable state._

_Because of the war and the resulting famine the population of the isles is rather young. I think the new generation might be more open to you than the seasoned veterans._

_I will also send you status reports and some reading materials in the future. I hope you will enjoy and use it wisely. Feel free, to reply and ask me every question you have._

_With friendly regards,_

_Lord Rodrik Harlaw,_

_Regent of the Iron Isles_


	3. Coastal Experiences (Jon II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon visits White Harbor and fosters at Bear Island and makes his first real battle experiences.

Over the years, Jon had joined his father in many of his journeys through the North.

His most important experience however was a stay in White Harbor with House Manderly for five moons by just him alone.

White Harbor was the only city in the North with more than ten thousands inhabitants. It was also the main port of the North, located in the bay called the Bite at the estuary of the White Knife, the greatest river in the North. The White Knife even almost reached Winterfell. Due to its location White Harbor had more contact with the south and there were more knights and followers of the Faith of the Seven present than anywhere else in the North. There were some followers of the Old Gods like Jon, but most followed the Faith. The city had access to good fishing grounds and was also the home of many silversmiths, that ensured its wealth.

Ser Wylis Manderly had taken him on as a squire and showed him many aspects of the harbor, sailing and trading. Jon always felt like he had a lot of the knowledge through literature, but it was different to experience it himself.

Ser Wylis was the eldest son and heir of Wyman Manderly, the Lord of White Harbor. He was married to Leona Woolfield and had two daughters, Wynafryd and Wylla. Jon made quick friends with Wylla whose golden hair he liked especially. Rodrik had written that a lack of money was going to be one of their biggest obstacles.

A public harbor was full of vibrant life. It was often too much for him to take in. Jon loved it though. There were so many different people and many had great and interesting stories to tell.

There were Northmen from all parts of the region, additionally were many Valemen present from the Three Sisters, which were in the middle of the Bite, the bay White Harbor was in, and Gulltown, the Westerosi main port. You could also spot a lot of ships from King’s Landing, the capital and biggest city of the realm.

From Essos Jon mainly saw Braavosi, even a few fierce looking Bravos with their typically slim swords. He also met and talked to some Pentoshi and Tyroshi with their forked and colored beards. Jon had learned Valyrian dutifully, so he was able to talk to msot people that walked around the docks.

Apparently, a vast number of pirates had gathered in the Step Stones under a new self-styled 'Prince of the Narrow Sea' called Sallador Saan making trade to Sunspear, Lys and beyond a lot riskier than before.

Jon also made a few short voyages with Ser Wylis across the Bite and one across the Narrow Sea to Braavos.

He was rather happy that he didn’t have a problem with sea sickness with was one of his hidden anxieties. Jon enjoyed the travelling, but he was rather impartial if it was by land or by sea.

Sisterton was a lot like the bigger Iron Islands said Ser Wylis. The Sisters sold crab, fish and goat cheese to White Harbor and in return bought wood, wool and hides. The traditional main dish called Sister's stew was a white seafood stew that was served all over the Three Sisters, in every inn and tavern. The Sistermen were once pirates and raiders that sent longships into the Bite, the narrow sea, and the Shivering Sea to reave and capture slaves. A sort of eastern Ironborn. Now the Three Sisters was mostly known to be a haven for smugglers. Jon wasn’t very impressed by the island group. The people looked rather poor and unhappy. He felt that this was going to be what his future vassals looked like. Never had he realized how good the lives of Winterfell’s inhabitants were.

Braavos was different from everything Jon ever experienced. No matter where he went, he couldn’t stop staring and soaking up new sights. Ser Wylis joked Jon was about to turn into a trout with his gaping mouth.

The Free City was comprised of hundreds of islands linked together by small stone bridges spanning the many canals throughout the city. The houses in the humbler regions were tightly packed together, even over the canals. The palaces of the Braavosi elite were splendid realizations of wealth. Numberless Temples of Braavosi Moonsingers, Red Priests of R’hllor, and numerous religions Jon never had heard of were in the religious district.

Finally, Jon realized how isolated his corner of the world was.

_One day I am going to visit all great known places in the south and east._

He also enjoyed watching a play by a group of common actors. Their acting in the play about the last war between Braavos and Pentos was able to draw him in making Jon feel like he was there himself.

* * *

It was afternoon when the ten and four old Jon was just about to start his daily sparring session with Lord Jorah in the yard of Mormont Keep at the centre of the island located in the Bay of Ice.

When he was ten and two, Jon had been sent by his father to foster at Bear Island. Lord Jorah Mormont was to take Jon as his squire. Normally the North and the Iron Islands didn’t really care about knighthood because they didn’t believe in the Seven but Father and Lord Rodrik Harlaw thought it was a good start to make a name for himself. Jon had therefore already squired some time for Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms of Winterfell and Ser Wylis.

Jon was to learn about living by the sea. The beautiful but remote island contained old gnarled oaks, tall pines, flowering thornbushes, moss-covered grey stones, and steep hills with streams. It also was home to many, many bears.

Jon hated the taste of bear flesh, so he already had a big problem.

Bear Island had long been disputed by the north and the Iron Islands and suffered occasionally from raids from Ironborn and Wildlings from the Frozen Shore. Though it seemed that the Ironborn barely raided the North after the Rebellion.

Lord Jorah Mormont was a large man with lots of hair. He was black-bearded, strong and fit. He had earned his knighthood in the Greyjoy Rebellion after winning the tourney at Lannisport. He was also present during the Battle of the Trident in 283 AC and saw the aftermath of the Sack of King's Landing. Jon learned a lot about these events from him.

At Lannisport Lord Jorah had met his second wife, Lady Lynesse. Jon didn’t like her. The only other southern Lady he knew was Lady Stark and Lady Lynesse felt like an extreme version of her. She was obsessed by always looking beautiful and it drove everyone else on the island mad. She tended to wail about the harshness of her life and how coming north was the biggest mistake of her life. Jon eventually just turned her out as much as possible.

_At least Asha isn’t like that._

From Lord Rodrik’s letters he had concluded that she was a lot like Arya. Jon didn’t know if that was a good thing though. Arya always harped on about never marrying. They hadn’t communicated to each other yet albeit Jon wanted to write a letter. He didn’t know what to write. The female Greyjoy was a few years older than him and apparently enjoyed a rather fulfilling life. Lord Rodrik brought him up to date on her current ventures and Jon’s experiences weren’t even close to keep up with her.

_We will know each other soon anyway. It’s not like we have a choice._

Jon’s best friend was Lyra Mormont who was of the same age as him. She was the third oldest of the five daughters of Lady Maege Mormont, Lord Jorah’s aunt. Apparently, they were fathered by “a bear”.

Jon had a small crush on Lyra to be honest. He however knew that there was already a woman "waiting" for him. Father had raised him to be honorable. He would not dishonor his wife by having feelings for another woman and he would definitely never sire a bastard like himself! He didn't want to make Asha become bitter and cruel like Lady Stark.

They were just about to begin their mock fight when they heard the screams from the north-east.

“Attack! Wildling attack! Attack!”

“Men!” Jorah yelled. “With me! Jon grab a sharp steel sword.”

Jorah and most people present followed the sounds and run to the north-eastern shore where a small fishing village with not even a hundred people laid. Jorah’s “men” were in the majority women. The female warrior culture was a well-known characteristic of Bear Island.

Jon rushed to the barracks as fast as he could, with three other guards who hadn't been armed. He grabbed a castle-forged bastard sword, his favorite weapon type, and run in the direction where the others had went.

When he arrived at the source of the screams, heavy fighting was already underway. People were running all over the place. There was no order. Already a few bodies lay on the ground and screams of pain were a constant background noise. Luckily, the wilding attackers were easily identifiable with their shabby appearance and non-steel weapons.

_Where should I go to help?_

He was puzzled and didn't know what to do. Eventually he just started to run at the nearest wildling who was trying to skewer a Mormont guard with a ironwood spear in the back.

Jon screamed and the man who was at least a decade older him turned immediately around. But it was already to late. Jon had full momentum and the man couldn’t turn his spear fast enough. Jon brought his sword down on his head.

The wilding’s head was split like a giant fruit, red blood splashing directly into Jon's face who barely managed to close his eyes in time.

He vaguely realized that this was his first kill, but already a big man with a giant bronze axe over his head was rushing at him. Jon jumped to the side, the wilding missing and getting carried a few steps further because of his speed. Jon leaped towards him and tried to thrust his sword swiftly in his back. His opponent turned around in time however and blocked with all his might. A quick second slash from Jon's blade ended the overextended man's life.

Afterward Jon descended in a red rush. His clothes were getting redder and redder. One of the raiders he killed was a boy who looked to be a younger than Jon himself, still a child. He was an enemy.

As the time between encounters lengthened Jon was starting to notice his surroundings again. The wildlings were originally outnumbering the Northmen by quite a margin which was extremely unusual. Normally raiding parties weren’t bigger than a dozen, but this time there had been at least forty men.

He saw Lord Jorah, Lady Maege and her young daughter Dacey fighting what he believed to be the leaders of the attackers. They didn’t seem to be too threatened and he knew they had vastly superior techniques to their adversaries, so he tried to help his less-trained allies.

The remaining wildlings, their numbers already cut in half, started to shout for retreat and began to run for their primitive small boats at the shore, seemingly filled with baskets full of fish, flatbread, furs and other valuables Jon couldn't identify.

Suddenly Jon heard a scream from the side. A young girl around his age was being carried by giant, hairy man towards a boat a few hundred meters away from the fighting.

Lord Jorah and everyone else was pursuing the raiders' main group, hurriedly wading behind them into the freezing sea. They didn’t see what was happening.

_I have to rescue her!_

Everything became unimportant as Jon ran towards the kidnapper through the ever higher salt water.

The wildling had already thrown the limb dark-haired girl into the small boat and was pushing it away from the shore. Then he noticed Jon sprinting towards him and readied his sword. Jon barely noticed that it was made from steel.

“Green boy, come to me, the Great Oret and meet the Gods!”

They were both deep in the cold water now. Oret was around one and a half heads bigger than Jon. Therefore Oret was only wet to his stomach while the water reached Jon to the chest.

Jon suddenly realized in what a terrible position he was. He was alone with his maneuverability, his greatest attribute, vastly limited against a superior opponent. Additionally, he felt his strength going away. The battle rush was slowly ending. The freezing sea water had also seeped into his clothes, making them heavy and pulling him down.

 _I can’t run away_ , Jon decided remembering the girl.

Oret heaved his long steel sword towards him and Jon blocked horizontally with his full strength. Pain went through his hands and up his arms. His entire sword was dipped into the water. Oret swung again and Jon quickly brought his sword up again for a parry.

He didn’t have any strength left his fingers which were suffering from the cold water, so he lost his grasp on the bastard sword's handle. Jon barely managed to lean his body sideward to the left, avoiding injury. He quickly looked around, but his sword was nowhere to be found, having sunk into the water already.

“Cry for your mommy, boy!” Oret yelled putting his sword above his head with both hands.

Jon was scared now, like never before. And he was desperate. The water didn’t allow him to dodge the next cleave by jumping away. Oret wasn’t going to miss and he couldn’t block.

All of a sudden Oret screamed. There were hands on his faces, small fingers scratching.

“My eyes! Get away, you cunt!”

Oret dropped his sword and turned around. Jon immediately saw the dark-haired girl on his back. Apparently, she had recovered her strength and jumped from the boat on her kidnapper.

Oret in his panic turned away from Jon. An opportunity that he had to grasp. Jon moved through the water as fast as possible, jumped and stretched out his right hand to put Oret in a choke hold with his arms tightly around his throat.

The girl had been thrown off by the big man and been pushed away into the water.

_I hope she can swim._

Oret was now grasping with his arm towards Jon on his back. Jon gave everything he still had to squeeze the wildling's neck.

Suddenly Oret let himself fall backwards, pushing Jon under him deep into the water.

This was a unexpected move. His lungs were quickly burning, his mouth begging for air.

_Can't give up!_

Oret was struggling with all his might now. His limbs were twitching wildly. Oret’s head was under water too and he had already grasped for air before.

Jon noticed that Oret slowly moved less and less until eventually he stopped moving. He himself was beginning to lose conciousness and it felt like he had nothing left. He saw the light of the sun; the water wasn’t deep after all, but he couldn't take control of his spasming muscles.

_Is this the end?_

His sight dimmed. Soon he saw pictures flashing in front of him. Jon wasn’t all there though to fully grasp them.

He glimpsed a big grey wolf surrounded by flames. There were golden lions, and then colorful lizards with wings. Then he saw a squid grasped by giant tentacles.

When his head reached the air, he tried to breath, unsuccessfully. His lungs were still burning. Then Jon got hard hit on his back, a second an eyestroke later. He spit out some fluids and was able to take his first full breath again. So greedy about air was his body, he didn’t perceive what happened until he saw himself kneeling on solid ground. He looked up and saw Lady Maege smiling at him while holding his shoulders tightly.

“Jon, are you alright?”

He tried to nod. His entire body was hurting inside and outside. Suddenly he felt extremely cold and started shivering.

Lady Maege pulled him up and towards a close house. “Come with me and lay down a bit. Let’s talk later. Great job by the way. We are all very proud of you.”

But Jon couldn’t register her words anymore; everything went dark.

* * *

When Jon woke up, the first thing he felt was pain, pain all over his body. He recognized his room in Mormont Keep. After a minute he tried to move and every muscle in his body screamed and protested. He found himself naked with a bandage on his left arm and his right upper thigh.

A short while later he had dressed and managed to enter the smoky, dark main hall. There were only half a dozen candles aflame to enlighten the room. Jon saw Lord Jorah and Lady Mormont sitting at the main table alone and talking to each other. It was probably late in the night. They noticed his appearance quickly and walked towards him.

“Jon!” Lady Maege exlaimed delightedly. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” That was lie. Jon felt absolutely terrible. He had overworked his body before, but it had never hurt like this.

Lady Maege didn’t seem to believe him but laughed anyway. “Hmm, if you say so. Just don’t forget that pain only makes a warrior stronger.”

Lord Jorah next to her smiled at him. “You did a great job out there Jon. I managed to have a few looks and you were one of our best fighters. You even managed to rescue young Wynna. Don’t worry, she’s going to be alright, she only got a few bruises and a hard hit on the head.”

 _The dark-haired girl must be Wynna_ , Jon realized. He felt much better now that he knew that he managed to save her from certain doom.

“Aunt here also helped to convince me that for your valorous actions you should be properly rewarded,” Jorah spoke. “Jon, kneel down.”

Jon, shocked with his eyes wide and mouth open, did as ordered after a few moments later. He understood what was going to happen.

Lord Jorah pulled out his Valyrian sword _Longclaw_ and laid it upon Jon’s right shoulder.

“Jon Snow of Winterfell, future Lord of the Iron Islands, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”

“I swear.” Jon honestly had a hard time to not twitch around nervously and talk calmly.

“Then rise,” Lord Jorah said pulling away his blade, “as a true knight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people want the Ironborn to become like Vikings.
> 
> I will not do that because that is already the case in pretty much all aspects. Longships, raiding etc. And I think it's made pretty obvious in canon that this life style doesn't work out for them.


	4. White Wolf (Jon III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a new friend and sets the foundations of his future house.

Jon returned to Winterfell at the beginning of the year 298 AC. He hadn’t visited in the last two and a half years, only communicating in letters.

Jon’s fostering in Bear Island had lasted only a few months longer in which he fought against two other smaller wildling attacks. He considered himself a rather experienced warrior now. Lady Maege said that the wildlings hadn’t been this aggressive since several decades.

Lord Jorah even contacted his own father, the Lord Commander Jeor of the Night’s Watch, and Jon's father, the Lord of Winterfell. Apparently, the wildlings were becoming more active as of late. Although Jon himself thought this to be worrying, he had full confidence in the Night's Watch and strength of the North who had managed to deal with the men from Beyond-the-Wall for thousands of years.

Jon had learned to sail over the last moons and had to make a few shipping trips to the Northern mainland for food and other essentials that weren’t obtainable on Bear Island. He had even met Father, Robb and Bran in Deepwood Motte who had all expressed their admiration of Jon’s accomplishments. He had almost burst of pride.

Jon enjoyed the short naval voyages, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about sailing like Arya’s idol Elissa Farman and his betrothed. Only the goal of the trip mattered for Jon. The same routes again and again bored him.

Lord Rodrik had sent him a few books and reviews on the Islands and related subjects. Jon read them all though he enjoyed some more than others.

_“The Seven Kingdoms are a union of several regions: the North, the Riverlands, the Iron Islands, the Vale, the Westerlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, the Reach and Dorne. In summation these are obviously nine regions. Except for the Crownlands, which are directly ruled by the King, the other region have a Lord Paramount or a title of similar station for the regional Overlord._

_The term originates from the time of Aegon’s Conquest when aside from House Targaryen's island "kingdom" of Dragonstone, the continent of Westeros was ruled by seven monarchs at the time of Aegon's Landing._

_Aegon and his sisters conquered only six of the seven kingdoms, consolidating them under the rule of the Iron Throne. Among the titles that Aegon received when crowned king in the Starry Sept in Oldtown, however, was "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms" - laying claim to Dorne, the seventh kingdom, though in truth the Iron Throne would not add Dorne to its domains for another two centuries, when it joined through peaceful marriage-alliance._

_[…]_

_Interesting is the relation of the Iron Islands and the Riverlands which at the time of Aegon’s Conquest were both part of the Kingdom of the Isles and the Rivers under House Hoare._

_The Kingdom was split by Aegon based on cultural and historical separation. There exists nevertheless an ever-growing faction of learned man that believe this to be a mistake._

_The Iron Islands are by far the smallest region of Westeros in size and population. Since Aegon’s Conquest the region has barely progressed. Considering the expulsion of the Sevens during the reign of King Aenys I Targaryen it might not be farfetched that they even have regressed. Politically the Islands have barely a presence and effect on the rest of Westeros. They usually only stand out negatively though raiding the western coasts. The economy is weak, sustaining itself on fishing, trading and iron mining. Both the nobles and the smallfolk are the poorest compared to everywhere else in the realm._

_It is generally reasoned that the Iron Islands haven’t been seized by the much mightier, adjacent Lannisters of Casterly Rock is that the Isles lack of strategic and economic potential_ _. Mentioned must also be t_ _he as very high estimated expenses of both a conquest and a long-term occupation.”_

-Archmaester Loren, The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

He had also made his first plans for his administration and discussed with Rodrik different reforms.

He wanted to drop the official but not enforced ban on the Faith of the Seven to not scare off merchants of the mainland.

Additionally, he had thought about creating a trading outpost on the Step Stones for the Ironborn. The outpost could also serve as a start point for future raiding. Jon disliked the practice immensely, but he was aware that it was part of the Ironborn culture and identity. An outpost would direct future attacks away from Westeros and towards Essos. It didn’t solve the problem itself, but Jon believed that at least profit was much more likely there and the victims would less likely be poor smallfolk and more the rich Essosi magisters. Jon didn’t care about the woes of slavers.

He had also considered using the Iron Fleet as mercenaries, giving the more hot-blooded men an outlet for their battle lust. This was already common practice for many pirates, so it should be quickly implementable.

* * *

“We have captured another deserter," announced Father.

“How many does this make?” Jon asked. “Three in five moons?”

He was intrigued. Clearly something was happening. He had heard the widespread rumors about a new King-beyond-the-Wall called Mance Rayder.

Father, Robb, Theon, Bran and Jon all went to the execution outside a small holdfast in the hills. Theon looked rather gloomy. Unsurprising, considering he was set to join the Watch in around four moons. This was the first time that seven-year-old Bran was allowed to join.

The offender turned out to be an old man dressed in the ragged blacks of the Night's Watch. It looked like he had lost his ears and a finger to frostbite.

The man was asked about his reasons and he talked about the Others. It was obvious that the man wasn’t completely sane anymore.

Finally, Father gave a command, and two of the guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard, black wood. Father dismounted and Theon brought forth the sword “Ice”. It was as wide across as a man’s hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.

 _One day I will own a Valyrian sword too._ As far as he knew House Greyjoy didn’t possess one.

Father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and declared, “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I sentence you to die.” He lifted the greatsword high above his head.

“Don’t look away,” said Jon to Bran. “This is why you are here.”

A single stroke and it was over.

“The deserter died bravely,” Robb said. He was bigger than Jon and growing every day. “He had courage, at the least.”

“No,” Jon said quietly. “It was not courage. He had nothing left anymore, nothing to fear for.”

“The Others take his eyes,” Robb swore. “He died well. Race you to the bridge?”

“Done,” Jon said, kicking his horse forward. He had neglected riding in the past years. Bear Island did not have much free space for it.

They galloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent. The hooves of their horses kicked up showers of snow.

Soon Robb pulled ahead. All of a sudden, he slowed his horse looking in the Wolfswood.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked, slowing down as well.

“There, you see that?” his brother asked and pointed to a grey mass on the ground several dozen meters away.

They walked towards it. The others had finally joined them by now.

Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark wolf slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it. Jon glimpsed blind eyes crawling with maggots and a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. But it was the size of it that made him gasp. It was twice the size of the largest hound in Winterfell’s kennel.

A big shattered piece of an antler, tines snapped off, partly covered with blood was stuck in its neck.

“A direwolf, this far south!” Father exclaimed.

The most important thing however were the five pups around the animal. Robb had already taken one of them in his arms. The pup was a tiny ball of greyblack fur, its eyes still closed.

“We will take them with us,” declared Robb.

Their father didn’t seem convinced, but Jon saw the hopeful look on Bran’s face.

“There are five pups,” he said loudly. “Three males, two females.”

“What of it, Jon?”

“You have five trueborn children, three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my Lord.”

“You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” Father asked softly.

Jon was about to deny him, he wasn’t a Stark after all and his place wasn’t in the North. But then he felt a tug in his mind, towards the deeper parts of the wood. Suddenly he saw it clearly. A white form in white, barely discernable if you weren't looking for it.

He walked over and picked the pup up with his arms.

“This one’s mine.”

* * *

In the evening of the same day, Father made another announcement. “The King is travelling to Winterfell. He will be here in two moons.”

Jon was immediatley excited and looking forward to the visit. The King had gifted him his title after all, without much reason.

Father later told him that he had to decide on a name for his new house, with its coat of arms and house words. The King was going to formally give him his family name and lands when he arrived.

Afterwards, Jon would depart for the Iron Islands, to wed and rule.


	5. The King's Visit (Jon IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recieves his title and makes his first steps as Lord of the Iron Islands.

The royal procession had arrived. There were many great knights and nobles of name present, the Kingslayer, Ser Barristan the Bold, the Imp…

The huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a roar, and crushed Father in a bone-crunching hug while laughing. “Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours. You have not changed at all.”

Father and Lord Jorah had talked about King Robert. A strong, muscular warrior. With his mighty war hammer he had crushed the Targaryen dynasty. He was one of Jon’s biggest childhood heroes.

Jon’s first reaction was disappointment.

Six and a half feet tall, the man towered over lesser men. He however also had a girth to match his height. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.

This man had been his greatest childhood hero. Now, his imagination was confronted with reality and shattered into thousand pieces.

One after another the King greeted his half-siblings. Jon stood also in the first row at the end of the line next to Arya. He was even colored in his new house colors of black, white and red.

“You must be Jon!” King Robert boomed. “Are you ready for those fucking rocks? Honestly, nobody should envy you. Piss poor land with piss poor madmen on it! Haha!”

“I will do my best to make the prosperous, Your Grace," he replied politely.

“You try that.”

Jon didn’t really know what to think after the King run off with Father, spurning the beautiful blond Queen. He was frustrated. The King obviously didn’t believe he could accomplish anything on the Iron Islands.

_No one has any confidence in me. They just think I drew a lucky lot and will waste away in a corner where nobody has to care about me._

Jon tightened his fist at his side.

_I will show them their mistake. Make them all respect me for my accomplishments._

* * *

Because of the feast the Great Hall was completely filled for the first time in decades. Servants where hushing around everywhere trying to satisfy all demands. It was so loud, Jon needed to yell at Robb and Arya next to him to be able to hold a conversation. They were seated at the main table on the dais with the rest of the Starks and the royal family made out of the the King, Queen Cersei and their three children, the oldest being the heir Joffrey.

Sansa had obviously developed a huge crush on the blond boy, which Arya, Jon and Robb found quite humorous.

Jon was secretly feeding Ghost with small parts of chicken. He had named his direwolf so because he never made a sound. Oddly enough in the last two nights he had seen himself sleeping on his bed from the floor. He was convinced that he had seen Ghost's perspective and felt the wolf's urges, mainly hunger.

Surprisingly for Jon, there wasn’t a big ceremony of his appointment as Lord Reaper of Pyke and Lord of the Iron Islands. Apparently, Father had already told the King about his decisions and everyone wanted to quickly get done with it.

Deciding a name was his biggest challenge: He didn't want to have some abbreviation from the Stark name like the existing Karstarks and extinct Greystarks. Jon wanted something new. His first idea was "Whitetyde". A day later he realised there already was a Ironborn House named Blacktyde on the isle Blacktyde. Then he wanted to incorporate the word "Iron", but it was both extremly unoriginal and made a conection to the formerly royal House of the Iron Islands "Greyiron". Finally, he decided on "Torren". It meant "Direwolf" in the Old Tongue according to an old dictionary he had found in Winterfell's liberary. With Ghost as his companion it was a great fit.

His coat of arms depicted a blood red sea at the bottom. From the water protruded a rock with a white wolf howling towards a moon. The heaven was black. The wolf was of course Ghost. Ghost was and would be his personal symbol no matter what he would do. They would always be together. The moon was more than a cosmetic choice. Lord Jorah hat told him that Ashara Dayne was probably his mother. The blazon of House Dayne showed a falling white star. The white moon as another celestial object was a small nod towards that. It obviously also fitted thematically with the wolf, so it was a good choice regardless of his relation to the Sword of the Morning, one of his childhood heroes.

The house words were: “Against all odds.” Jon honestly had no better idea and he felt the words were a great battle cry which would surely please some of his vassals. To be fair, his ascent to the nominally highest tier of nobility, for House Torren would be one of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms did happen _against all odds_.

At the beginning of the feast the Lord Stark gave Robert two papers to sign. Jon’s document of nobilization with his new name. And a second certificate to award him his titles. His nobilization also came with a automatic legitimization, putting him behind all his siblings, even Sansa and Arya, in the succession of Winterfell.

The King then spoke a toast, “Congratulations, Lord Jon, Master of Rocks! Haha! You know my wife wanted to give your due to one of her hundred golden cousins, but I am a man of my words. Ned told me about your knighthood and all. I am impressed, do not doubt it.”

“I thank you for your generosity, Your Grace. I swear, as Lord of the Iron Islands, to always serve my King diligently, with honor and respect.”

It wasn’t grand, but it felt like Jon just made a giant leap in his life. No longer was he a Snow, but one of the strongest men in the realm.

_Finally. Now I am a man. And soon people in all of Westeros will know me. Not for being Lord Stark’s lucky bastard but for being a great Lord with accomplishments no one had trusted him to achieve._

Robb and Arya came to him and hugged him. Father just smiled from his place and raised his wine goblet in his direction. Robb told him that Theon had run out of the Hall when the King signed the documents.

_I can’t blame him for that. I might have reacted similarly in his situation._

Only the two mature ladies looked like a tragedy had just occurred. Jon was honestly surprised Lady Stark wasn’t happy that he would finally leave her home. The beautful Queen looked to be miffed by her husband’s words.

_Let’s hope she’s as graceful as in the stories and won’t harbor any resentment for me taking away the Islands from her family._

* * *

Later during the grand feast Jon noticed something he could work with for his first action.

_The King's mind isn't all there anymore. And he is drinking more and more._

The fat man was currently laughing about some story from the Greatjon, one of the many attending Lords of the North, groping a comely serving girl and obviously enjoying himself. Jon honestly felt bad for the Queen who was scowling for at least an hour already.

He remembered Lord Rodrik’s written words. ' _If_ _you feel you have a good opportunity to strengthen the Islands in the long term, don’t fear to grasp it. If you don’t, you will regret your weakness for maybe the rest of your life.”_

Jon didn’t believe Father would like what he about to try, but he also felt like did not have a real choice.

_I am now primarily responsible for the prosperity of the Ironborn. I can only look for the Northmen afterwards._

And his idea wouldn’t necessarily hurt the North. Jon hoped it could maybe even lessen one of their burdens.

He waited until late in the feast, not drinking lot to remain sober. He vanished for a short time to prepare a document for the King to sign.

The rest of the royal family and the Stark family had already gone to bed. Theon never came back. Only the King remained with some of the jolliest socializers.

“Well, well, well… I… ehhh… think I am going to amuse myself kingly now.” The King boomed prompting another round of laughter. In his arms were two serving women from Wintertown who Jon recognized, making the King’s intentions clear.

_Good thing, the Queen already left. I definitely will never treat my wife like that ever, by the Old Gods!_

Jon finally approached him. The King was deep in his cups right now but still able to function halfway properly. No one else looked at them. Lord Karstark was currently telling an embellished story about a raid of Skagosi stonemen on his lands.

“Your Grace?” Jon asked.

“Ahhh,” boomed the King. “If that’s not the new Lord Squid, isn’t it? Haha!”

“Your Grace, have you heard about the many wildling raids into the North that are happening, and the new King-beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder?” Jon asked directly.

“Wildlings? I hate fucking wildlings, I tell you! If they make too much problems, send for me and I will personally crush these savages, I tell you!” The fat man was was so drunk by now, he started slurring his words.

_Maybe he is less coherent than I thought. Possibly better that he is. I need to go for it._

“The Ironborn are total madmen as you know. And I thought it was a great idea to pit them against the wildlings. To weaken each other and help the realm. They are basically wildlings themselves, aren’t they, just with boats?”

“True, Lord Squid! I like you! So true! What do you want then from me? Everyone wants something for me. And this sound like an amazing idea. Letting your enemy slaughter each other until all are gone! Ha! I like it, I like it!”

Jon obviously had stretched the truth. He was sure there would be some fighting but his goal was something different entirely. But it could help the realm all the same… in a way.

“I humbly ask your grace to give me Westwatch-by-the-Bridge then, Your Grace.”

The King looked confused at him. “Westwatch, where’s that? I only know fucking Eastwatch, never visited, but I heard it’s cold. Haha!”

“Westwatch is a ruin, Your Grace, given up by the Night’s Watch half a century ago. It’s not even directly at the Wall but to the western end of it at the river called the Milkwater. It’s at the northern shore, so it’s not even on the land of the Watch itself.”

_I don’t think Father and the Watch will agree with this assessment._

But it didn’t matter to Jon. He had visited the Wall for two short supply runs and the Night’s Watch only used the southern shore of the Milkwater for shipping to supply the Shadow Tower around two kilometers to the east. The docks on the northern side were completely unused.

“Hmm, so they don’t need it anymore and you could. And your idea is fucking amazing! I will let someone draw up some papers tomorrow. It’s necessary you know… proper documentation and all that stupid shit.”

Jon laid his paper in front of the King and put a quill and an inkpot to the side of it. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I already drafted this certificate. You should read it so there is nothing unjust. There is even a clause that the King can give the keep back to the Watch without justification. It makes me Lord of Westwatch and allows me station troops there. The troops are only allowed to go northwards though, of course.”

King Robert didn’t even read it. He looked at Jon for a few seconds, his left hand on the ass of one of the serving women. The other one had left to bring more booze.

“Ned told me that you are honourable and can be trusted. And if my brother Ned says that than it’s fucking true!”

He moved his right hand for the quill, grasped it, put it into the inkpot and signed without adornments.

Jon took the paper carefully and looked the King in the eyes. “I thank you, Your Grace. I won’t disappoint you!”

Robert stood up, put his arms around the woman by his side and started to swagger off. “See that you don’t, Lord Squid. And if you do, nothing of value is lost anyway! Hahaha!” And with deep laughter the King left the Great Hall.

Jon also went to his room. He still had a wide smile on his face when he laid in his bed and thought about his next steps.

_This is something I can work with._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Dance with Dragons places Westwatch north of the Gorge and west of the Wall. The Lands of Ice and Fire depicts Westwatch south of the Gorge and just east of the Bridge of Skulls, where the Wall ends. I will use the first location from the main series.


	6. Leaving the North (Jon V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recieves some farewell gifts and starts his trip to the Iron Islands.

The King had apparently forgotten about his decision last night because no one approached Jon about it the next day.

He had to at least inform the Night’s Watch however so he talked to Uncle Benjen who seemed to have arrived at Winterfell late last night. Benjen Stark was promoted to be the First Ranger of the Watch about four years ago. He was second only to the Lord Commander Mormont at Castle Black.

Jon and Benjen weren’t very close. Jon was often away, so he had missed all his visits over the last few year. In the past however when Jon was younger Uncle Benjen's appearances at Winterfell were alwys something he looked forward to.

He talked to the black brother at the next evening feast. Benjen was thin and had sharp features and blue-grey eyes, in which a hint of laughter was often present. He was dressed in black, fitting for a man from the Night's Watch. He also wore rich velvet, high leather boots, a silver buckle on his wide belt, and a heavy silver chain. Benjen seemed to have put on his best clothes for his stay while the royal family was guest at Winterfell.

“Uncle Benjen?”

“Ahh, Jon. How is Lordship treating you?” Benjen asked sitting at one of the tables at the back of the hall, far away from the main table.

Jon put the document in front of Benjen on the table that appointed him as Lord of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. Benjen focused his eyes on it.

“I need you to inform Lord Commander Mormont and the Shadow Tower that I plan to use this keep as an outpost.”

Benjen had read it completely and then a second time. He was silent for a minute.

 _It’s a royal decree. He can’t do much_ , Jon tried to assure himself, but he still got a nervous twitch in his feet.

Finally, Benjen began to speak slowly, “Jon… this isn’t possible.”

“The King signed it. Of course it does.”

“The Watch exists and acts as an independent entity. The King can’t take our property away.”

Jon however had done his preparation. “The Watch is supposed to be neutral in every conflict in the rest of the realm. This isn’t a conflict. Additionally, the Watch is still an institution of the Seven Kingdoms. You get funded through the King’s taxes after all. Following this the King is also your liege lord and is able add to and take away land of the Watch. Like the New Gift from King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.”

Benjen obviously hadn’t expected such a rehearsed response and grumbled a curse under his breath.

“It’s not like we take any farm or hunting lands from you,” continued Jon “It’s just an abandoned keep removed from the Wall itself. I only want a port to use.”

“Alright then,” Benjen said, obviously still unhappy. “I will talk with Ned. If there are problems, he will want speak to you on his own.”

* * *

The next day Father called Jon to his solar and wanted to hear his reasoning himself. Jon used the same arguments he had told Benjen.

“But what are your goals for Westwatch? It’s an end node. There is nothing of worth close to it. The Milkwater isn't shippable much further too.”

Jon knew he had to give his father one of his main motivations. “It’s the wood I need. The Iron Isles don’t have any forests and I don’t want to depend on the mainland for it. I need wood for new structure, new ships and all. I can’t have enough of it. The Haunted Forest is right around the corner and ripe for the taking.”

Father looked intrigued. “You can buy wood from the North though, from the Wolfswood. You are still part of this family, Jon. If you need it so much, I may be able to negotiate a lower selling price for you.”

“Lord Stark, I am my own Lord now… I don’t want my lands to be dependent on any outsiders, even if it’s you. I am thinking about the future. I can’t know how good the relationship between Robb and my children will be. I feel this is good step to make the Iron Islands stronger.”

“I see you have thought this out. But the wildlings will be a big problem. They have been raiding a lot more lately too, you have experience it himself.”

“That’s the point. The wildlings are currently desperate for food and other recourses. I don’t even have to send my own men far into the wilderness. I let the wildlings do the wood gathering for me and trade extremely cheaply for it.”

“It won’t work. The wildlings aren’t civilized like us. They will attack you anyway.”

“Some will for sure. But it’s not like they are all mindless savages. The Ironborn have a similar reputation as the wildlings and there are quite a few civilized ones. There are certainly some chieftains that will recognize what a great advantage a long-term partnership with me would be for them.”

Jon had thought the Ironborn once to be mindless savages too. But Lord Rodrik had told him that there was a rather sizable faction among the nobles and the smallfolk that believed the Old Ways were outdated. He was confident that the same thing applied for the Wildlings.

“Hmm, I don’t like this idea, but you are right about one thing,” said Father, withdrawing for now. “You are a man and a Lord on your own now. If you really believe this to be the right idea I can’t and won’t stop you. You must make your own decisions. But please, if you need help… never forget that you are a Stark, Jon. If you have problems which you can’t solve on your own, ask me and Robb first.”

Jon felt rather touched. “Don’t worry Father, I will.”

Jon was standing up to go when he remembered something and turned around again.

“By the way, what happened to Theon? I haven’t seen him since the King arrived.”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“He packed his things and took his horse. He was seen riding south. I think he is going to White Harbor,” said his father.

_I wouldn’t want to join the Watch either though._

Theon should have gone with the departure of King Robert. Jon and his siblings had always been told by their father how honorable serving on the Wall was. His first visit to the Shadow Tower broke that illusion. It was just a glorified penal colony with a long history, filled with some of the worst criminals of the entire realm, too cowardly to receive the death they deserved.

Afterwards he had to think about what else the Lord of Winterfell had lied to him and his siblings about. Because in Jon’s mind it was a lie. Father wasn’t an idiot. He knew how the Watch looked and intentionally misrepresented it. The visit to the Wall probably was the beginning of his current independence streak. Honour was fool's gold more often then not. A great Lord had to make compromises.

_Will Theon make me problems in the future?_

Theon was Balon’s only remaining male son, giving him the best claim to the Isles possible. Jon couldn't supress his worry for a moment. After a few seconds Jon was able to calm himself down however.

_He won’t be a problem. It’s not like he has any power base among the Ironborn._

Jon probably knew more about the culture of the Iron Islands than Theon himself. He just needed to do a good job as a ruler.

_This changes nothing._

* * *

A week later the King and his retinue including Jon had left

Surprising for most, including Jon, Father had accepted to be the new Hand of the King and was going with Sansa, Arya and their direwolves to King’s Landing. Sansa was additionally betrothed to the Crown Prince. Jon was happy for her. His estranged sister had the potential to be a great Queen.

Bran was supposed to accompany them originally too, but he had fallen from high wall two days ago and had not woken up again. Jon had been thinking about postponing his journey, but Lady Stark had made it clear he wasn’t welcomed anymore. Jon didn’t judge her for that harshly. The woman from the Riverlands looked terrible. She had taken the accident the worst.

Jon had packed his things, a lot of books he wanted to give Lord Rodrik back. He was joining the royal train for around 240 kilometers. Then he would take the road westwards towards Barrowton.

Father had given him two farewell gifts, his own horse, a dark-brown stallion, and the _Sea Wolf_. The _Sea Wolf_ was a cog made entirely out of ironwood, one of the best and most expensive ship-building materials. Lord Stark had apparently organized it and given the gold while Lord Manderly had let it be made in White Harbor using his best ship-builders. Lady Maege, the new Lady of Bear Island, had given the wood almost for free. Jon was astonished by their generosity and vowed to pay it back one day. Bear Island didn’t even have many ironwood trees and needed the money. Jon had still problems accepting that Ser Jorah, desperate for money for Lady Lynesse’s southern tastes, turned slaver and later had to flee the North avoiding punishment.

The cog already had a small crew made from people of White Harbor, mostly second and third sons of small merchants and knights who didn’t have anywhere else to go. They had already travelled from White Harbor around all of Westeros to receive him in Barrowton. His crew seemed to be both trustworthy and experienced.

Robb had given him a gift too, a bastard sword made of the finest castle-forged steel available in the North. Jon had to vow though to visit him at least once in the next two years.

The biggest gift had come from King Robert himself who had revealed the he apparently had sent a letter ahead to King's Landing that the Master of Coin, a man called Littlefinger, should send 20.000 gold dragons to Pyke. The money should arrive around the same time as Jon would. He had asked on what the Baratheon's gift was supposed to be used, but the King had only laughed and exclaimed: "I would use it on brothels, that's where most of my gold vanishes!"

Jon himself had given Arya a thin castle-forged steel sword which she called Needle around a year ago. They had secretly trained every week in the Godswood.

The train moved at a snail’s pace, but they eventually reached the crossing. At least Ghost had his fun. He already reched the size of a big dog by now and was allowed to walk freely around for the first time by Jon. He was convinced that Ghost would always come back to him. They already had such a tight bond.

Arya pretended that she wasn’t crying by wearing a guard helmet she had picked up somewhere. Jon had to promise her that he was going to visit King’s Landing sometime in the near future.

After one night under the open sky Jon finally reached Barrowton, a small town containing Barrow Hall at the center, the seat of House Dustin. The town itself was wooden and had broad straight streets, including one lined with elms. He directly went to the harbor at the bigger of the two rivers and quickly found his new ship.

Typical cogs were clinker-built and fitted with a single mast and a square-rigged single sail. The _Sea Wolf_ was larger than average with around twenty meters in length with a beam of seven meters. It was supposed to be able to carry up to 200 tonnes. The white sail depicted his coat of arms, the bloodred sea at the bottom with the white wolf standing on an Island howling towards the moon. Father must have given Lord Manderly his design. The ship still lacked a figurehead at the bow but Jon didn't care about that.

Jon led his horse over the plank, Ghost curiously sneaking over behind him, and greeted three young men leaning against the railing. When his feet finally met the wooden deck, he realized that a new chapter in his life had just begun.


	7. Meeting the Reader (Jon VI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Harlaw and finally meets Lord Rodrik Harlaw.

The Captain of the _Sea Wolf_ was called Worren Snow. He was around forty, his brown hair already showing grey streaks. He was rather corpulent making it unsurprising that he was a bastard from a Manderly cadet branch.

Captain Worren claimed to have visited every port of the Narrow Sea, being the captain of a merchant vessel of House Manderly until now. He didn’t have any family, so he decided to make new experiences on the other side of Westeros under Jon. The man was a bit of a dreamer, but Jon and him quickly built a connection. They enjoyed talking about the different Free Cities during the trip down the Barrowwater.

Jon felt that Ghost wasn’t the biggest fan of open water, when they reached the Saltspear, a deep long bay that reached further inlands until the Neck. The wolf was laying on deck not moving at all.

The water was rather calm and Captain Worren said that they shouldn’t expect a storm in the next few days. How he knew Jon didn’t understand. He lacked the naval knowledge to captain a sailing ship effectively himself. It wasn’t really a problem for him. Jon tried to focus on the bigger picture.

The _Sea Wolf_ was loaded with forty tonnes of grain, wood and booze, so they glided relatively fast through the water. It wasn’t a match with the speed of an Ironborn longship which could travel twice as fast, but it was impressive, nonetheless.

After two days they arrived at Blazewater Bay and followed the coast southwards around Cape Kraken. Cape Kraken had long been territory disputed by the North and the Iron Islands. King Theon Stark drove the Ironborn from Cape Kraken, but King Loron Greyjoy later retook the cape. The sons and grandsons of King Rodrik Stark then battled for the region. Some maesters, Jon had read, believed the populace's blood was closer to that of the Ironborn than the Northmen.

Jon didn’t really care about Cape Kraken. It would be nice region to control with its woods and farmlands. The Iron Isles were currently buying their grain mainly from the Reach and the Westerlands.

_I need to find a stable food source if possible._

But Jon currently lacked any ideas for that. It was basically impossible to conquer and occupy Westerosi mainland. Since Aegon’s Conquest most boundaries were basically set in stone. And no Lord would like to be neighbors with the Ironborn

* * *

The winds were pushing the cog southwards until after five days since their departure from the North one of the men, Derrick from Sisterton, yelled from the front of the ship.

“Land! Land infront! Must be Great Wyk!”

Jon hastened to the bow of the ship. After a few minutes he was able to identify a tower on a cliff jutting out towards them.

_This must be Sealskin Point._

Sealskin Point was the main seat of House Farwynd of Sealskin Point, one of the biggest noble houses on the Isles. They had several branches spread across the westernmost shores of Great Wyk and scattered islands beyond, such as House Farwynd of the Lonely Light far to the west of the main archipelago.

Captain Warren steered the cog to left. Soon they passed Great Wyk and the smaller Old Wyk. On Old Wyk, Jon had read, laid the skeleton of Nagga, the mightiest sea dragon of all time which was slain by the Grey King, a legendary monarch of the Iron Islands who is said to have ruled for 1,007 years. Most of the houses of the islands claimed descent from the Grey King, including House Greyjoy.

They traveled between Blacktyde to the north and Orkmont to the south towards their destination.

Jon tried to soak up everything he could. The Islands looked barren indeed. Jon didn’t truly feel any disappointment about it. He had already expected these sights. However, there were longships at almost every section of shore. There were more of them than he could count.

Harlaw was the second-largest island after Great Wyk and the easternmost. It was almost 130 kilometers across from west to east and 80 from north to south, with a peninsula at the north-eastern corner of the island extending a further 40 kilometers to the north. Aside from some tall hills in the east, it was flatter and more fertile than the other islands and was the most heavily-populated island in the archipelago.

Soon the _Sea Wolf_ curved around the northern tip of the isle and stopped at the docks of the Ten Towers, behind the crew was a journey of roughly one and a half thousand kilometers.

Jon had agreed with Lord Rodrik meet at his keep before he officially took his place on the Seastone Chair. Though he was the Regent of the Isles over the last ten years Lord Rodrik remained on Harlaw. Apparently, he had only left the island thrice in the last decade, mostly staying inside his keep. He was called “The Reader” for a reason.

The Ten Towers were the newest castle in the Iron Islands, built by Lord Theomore Harlaw, who blamed the deaths of three infant sons on the dampness of the ancient Harlaw Hall, which often flooded. The new castle was built at a better site and the mercurial Theomore constructed ten towers different in appearance. The towers were connected by walks and bridges.

Jon stepped of the _Sea Wolf_ with Ghost following him. He had told Ser Warren that they would stay here until at least tomorrow afternoon.

At the coast beneath the Ten Towers on a hill was a bigger village. The main product of the inhabitants was obviously fishing. Lord Rodrik had written him that there was good fishing off the Long Stone Quay. Jon had learned how to fish at Bear Island and enjoyed it a lot. It gave him time to calm down and think.

When Jon walked through the streets people looked at him oddly and quickly went to the side. He was rather perplexed until he saw Ghost walking by his left.

_They probably never saw a dog this big before. And Ghost is still young._

Hopefully there wouldn’t be some incident with a hot-blooded warrior in the future trying to make himself a name as legendary monster slayer.

When he told his name to the two guards at the entrance of Lord Rodrik’s keep, they didn’t even react at first. They stared at his face, looked at Ghost, at his face again, back at Ghost. After around ten seconds the older one of them who seemed more experienced quickly did a small bow.

“I welcome you, my lord. Lord Harlaw is expecting you in the Book Tower. I will lead you there. Please follow me, my lord.”

They made several corners and passed two walkways until they apparently reached their goal. The Book Tower was the fattest of the ten towers. It was octagonal and made of large block stones.

When they went inside Jon saw books everywhere. They were neatly ordered on wooden shelves on every side. It reminded him a bit of Winterfell’s library.

The guard pointed towards the stairs upwards and left to where they came from.

When Jon reached the second and third floors, he saw only even more books. Shelves were now even in the middle of the room. He didn’t see any people though. It was very quiet.

He finally moved up the stairs another time. At the top was a wooden door located. Jon knocked twice with medium strength.

“Come in!” Jon obeyed walking thorugh the entrance into another room with books everywhere

A man sat behind a wide table full of open books, papers and various writing tools at the other end of tower facing him. The man looked up from the thick book before him and Jon glimpsed his first look of Lord Rodrik Harlaw. An average-looking man, the Lord of Hallaw had brown hair and eyes and a short, neat beard that was greying. He was clothed in black, the color of his house. He had what Jon recognized as a bronze Myrish lens in his left hand, probably to assist with his vision for easier and more reading.

Lord Rodrik was a widower who told Jon that he didn’t want to wed again. Both of his sons died during the Rebellion. He wrote that their deaths were one of his main motivations to help Jon. He didn’t want more senseless bloodshed. His current heir was his cousin Harras, the Knight of Grey Garden. Grey Garden was one of the five seats of House Harlaw on Harlaw with its numerous cadet branches. It was located at the northern tip of the island.

Lord Rodrik however had written him that he was willing to make his niece and Jon’s betrothed his heir.

Lord Rodrik stood up and moved towards him. “You are Jon I suppose.”

Jon didn’t feel disrespected that he wasn’t given a formal welcome and his title wasn’t used. He had never met Lord Rodrik before but from his letters Jon had started to trust him. The Lord of Harlaw was surprisingly still the only Ironborn he had meaningful contact with until now.

“Indeed, Lord Harlaw. I am happy to finally be her and meet you directly.” Jon then pointed Ghost trotting up the stairs behind him. "This is Ghost, my direwolf."

Lord Roderik seemed to be at of the animal for a bit.

“Same, same… Let’s sit down and talk. Call me Rodrik. We are to be family after all.”

That was true. Rodrik was going to become his good-uncle through Asha’s mother Lady Alannys. He knew that both of Rodrik’s sisters, Alannys and Gwynesse were living in the Ten Towers after they had lost their family in the Rebellion. Jon hoped his siblings wouldn’t have a similar fate as Rodrik’s.

“Is Lady Asha here?”

The woman was probably his biggest anxiety right now. She had never written him. Rodrik only sparely talked about her and her wishes. He had been told that she enjoyed reading, but her true dedication was sailing. Jon had depicted her in his mind as a female version of Theon. Dark-haired and rather handsome, a confident appearance and a cocky smile.

“Sadly, she’s not. She is either still at sea or at Pyke. The wedding is planned to get underway as soon as both of you are there. It will only be a small ceremony.”

Jon had asked Rodrik if Asha could take up his seat and govern the island of Pyke. It was a calculated gamble. If she accepted, which she had, she could become an important support pillar for him in the future, giving him wise advice with her experience. On the other hand, his vassals might be inclined to believe that Asha was the true ruler of Pyke with Jon just as a figure head. Not that it was impossible.

“And, what’s your first impression of your Islands?”

“I guess it could be worse. I haven’t seen anything impressive yet. Lots of ships of course. That was my main take away.” Jon said calmly.

“I enjoy your honesty.” Rodrik said with a slight smile. “It’s not a bad attribute to have and many Ironborn will appreciate it. Schemers are generally mistrusted here.”

They discussed their schedule of the next few days and the current main conflict on the Iron Islands.

“I would say there are three main factions present right now.” Rodrik began.

“The first would be us, the progressives. I think we can rather safely count on the nobles of Harlaw and Pyke. We can also count on the support of House Blacktyde of Blacktyde and Lord Merlyn, the Lord of Pebbleton. I would say our members are the more mercantile inclined.

Our direct adversaries are the traditionalists. They are martial and try to follow the Old Ways. Always want to pay the iron price. They will make us the most problems and give all Ironborn a much worse reputation than we deserve in my opinion. Their loudest speakers are the Lords Drumm and Stonehouses from Old Wyk. They are mainly supported by the nobles of Old Wyk, Saltcliffe and Orkmont. The vast majority of Ironborn captains are traditionalists.

I would say their leader is Victarion Greyjoy who is the Captain of the Iron Fleet. He is rather simple I must warn and hates you a lot already for just being an outsider. He will confront you at some point, have no doubts about it.

The third faction are the priests of Drowned God, led by Aeron Greyjoy, also called Damphair. After his release from the cells of Casterly Rock he isn’t the sanest anymore. They are strongly leaning towards the traditionalists, but zealots tend to be unpredictable as I am sure you know from history.”

Jon tried to memorize everything Rodrik said. The Lord Harlaw seemed to dislike the priests he noted. He had already known of the conflict of course and they discussed it quite a bit per letters.

“Hmm, I think that’s it for now. You should probably rest. You have a long trip behind you.”

Jon did feel rather tired, but he still had something to talk about, two things actually.

Firstly, he told Rodrik about the 20.000 gold dragons the King had promised him. Rodrik had been delighted of course, even though the gift hadn't arrived yet.

Afterwards, he took a document with the King’s signature out of his pocket and put it on the table.

Rodrik looked a bit surprised seemingly not knowing what to expect, and read it.

After around a minute he looked up, directly into Jon’s eyes. “Westwatch-by-the-Bridge… I’m astonished, I tell you. What do you want to do with it? It was abandoned by the Watch decades ago if I remember correctly.”

Jon realized it immediately. Rodrik was a smart man and he knew a lot about Jon’s character and ambitions. The Reader would be able to find out the truth himself without much effort. He probably already had guessed Jon’s main intentions.

_This is a test. I need to show Rodrik how capable I am, that he trusts in the right person._

“The Iron Isles suffer mainly from the shortage of two recourses: food and wood which we both have to buy currently from the mainland. I believe this venture could fulfill a great part of our wood demand. We need wood if we want to build more trading vessels and build new and better houses for our residents. The Haunted Forest has more trees than we could ever fell. We just need to ship it back here.”

“And what about the wildlings?”

“There will be problems, but I considered using them as work force. Wildling attacks have risen drastically in the North. They seem to be desperate. I think by trading with food, fur and steel tools we could use some wildling groups to cut the wood and bring it to Westwatch by themselves. We only need to defend Westwatch and our ships. I feel the risk is worth it.”

Rodrik seemed to think for a few moments. “It would be a great first project for you. If it succeeds you would have established a good reputation quickly… I will read about the topic some more and contact some of our friends that might be interested to help.”

Jon’s shoulders sagged down. He had been so tense during his presentation. He didn’t realize how much pressure he had put himself under. Rodrik’s acceptance meant so much for him.

Rodrik summoned a servant with a bell to show Jon his room for the night who was feeling really exhausted by now. It was already deep into the night, so he quickly fell asleep on the bed.


	8. The Lady of Pyke (Jon VII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Pyke and meets two of his future family members.

The next morning Jon wandered towards the Great Hall to still his hunger.

“Young man, stop!” Suddenly a middle-aged woman called out to him.

She had long white hair and thin skin and made a somewhat frail and sickly impression

“My Lady?”

“Have you seen my sons?” the woman asked, she seemed desperate. Jon really wanted to help her.

“I am sorry, my Lady, but I just arrived a short while ago. I haven’t seen any boys.”

The woman let out a wail. “Please, they are called Rodrik, Marion and Theon… I miss them a lot and can’t find them!”

_Asha’s brothers. Is this her mother? Alannys, I think,Rodrik’s sister._

Jon realized who the woman was immediately. His future good-mother. Roderik and Marion were obviously dead for a decade. And Theon was spirited away. Searching for them here in the keep was ridiculous.

_She lost all of her sons through the rebellion. Looks like she didn’t take it well._

“My lady, I just remembered,” Jon said with a fake smile. “I saw Theon a short while ago. I know him well. He seemed very happy; you must know. The last time he told me he was going on a great adventure far away.”

Jon didn’t know where Theon went. Jon doubted Theon would come to the Iron Islands any time soon. Jon assumed he would go to Essos. He remembered that Theon once said that he dreamed to travel to Asshai-by-the-Shadow. That was his best guess.

“Ohhh!” Alannys exclaimed. She had a genuine smile on her face. It seemed like a great burden was lifted from her shoulders. “If you see him the next time, please tell him that I want to him to come back home. I haven’t seen him in such a long time.”

Then she turned around and wandered off.

Remembering that Asha grew up in the Ten Towers Jon asked himself if it was better to have no mother at all instead of seeing your mother suffer every day.

* * *

The main hall was the location of the high seat of House Harlaw. Big windows enlightened the room. Two giant scythes of beaten silver crossed hang crossed above the seat. It was the coat of arms of the House Harlaw main branch.

It was rather empty only a few people sat isolated around.

Jon saw a young man sitting at the main table and moved next to him. The man had messy brown hair and large eyes. Jon would describe him as handsome. The man was dressed like a common noble and had a blazon on his breast, a shoal of silver fish on pale green.

_House Botley of Lordsport. This might be my future neighbor._

Lordsport was located on the island of Pyke, at the opposite side of the keep of Pyke as far as Jon remembered from the maps.

“Good morning, my Lord. I am Jon.”

He didn’t want to give up his identity directly. It would surely stop any serious conversation from occurring. Jon wanted to get a feeling of his vassals.

“Tristifer Botley, second son of Lord Sawane of Lordsport. Most call me Tris though.” He was open and showed Jon a small smile.

Suddenly his eyes went wide. Tris clearly had realized Jon’s identity, surprisingly quick.

_Am I that obvious in being a foreigner? I guess I don’t have the Ironborn vibe… Is Jon not a common name here?_

“Are… are you the Jon, the Northern upstart bastard?” Tris stumbled a bit around with his words, obviously unprepared to meet his new liege lord.

“Is that how I am getting called?” Jon knew his reputation was at the bottom of the barrel currently. Everything else was unrealistic. He was a scion of the archenemy after all.

Tris stood up abruptly. “It seems I have forgotten.” He gave his terrible excuse and hasted out of the hall. He turned around once and gave him a hateful glare.

_Is this what I should expect in the future?_

Rodrik had told him the Botleys were part of the progressives. Hopefully Tris was an exception to the rule.

* * *

Two days later the _Sea Wolf_ made the short trip to Pyke. Rodrik was surprisingly following them on his own ship, a longship named _Sea Song_.

Pyke was one of the larger islands among the Iron Islands and located east of Saltcliffe, southeast of Great Wyk, and southwest of Harlaw. It was around a day's sail from Harlaw.

It was roughly 80 kilometers wide from west to east and 50 from north to south. The island was not as large, populous or fertile as Great Wyk or Harlaw, but it was more difficult to attack, with rocky shores

Soon Jon saw the island and the castle Pyke, on the eastern shore. His new seat.

The ancient castle of Pyke was once part of mainland but was now partly located on small islands and stone stacks after segments of land fell into the sea. The different segments were connected by small, swaying rope bridges. Jon couldn’t believe they were safe. Maybe he should replace them with something sturdier in the future.

The keep, its towers, and walls were made of the same grey-black stone of which the rest of the island is composed. The walls were covered with green lichen.

There was no safe anchorage at Pyke, so they landed at the nearby Lordsport.

Rodrik recognized Asha’s _Black Wind_ in the harbor and pointed the longship out to Jon. She seemed to be awaiting them in the main keep.

Lordsport was the largest town in the Iron Islands. It had been mostly destroyed in Robert’s assault of Pyke. It had however been rebuilt by its smallfolk, who used the stones from the burned remnants and cut new thatch for their roofs.

Jon wore his best clothes with his coat of arms on the front and his back, his sword visibly by his side. He tried to walk confidently to the castle entrance through the chaotic streets. Ghost was leading their group. Rodrik was on his right side in his best clothes as well. On his left was Tris. He still glowered at Jon from time to time. Whatever his problem was it seemed to be rather serious. With them was also half a dozen guards of House Harlaw. Alannys was also with them which somewhat surprised him. The noblewoman looked a lot more composed than in the morning. She hadn’t approached him again, even though she clearly knew his identity now.

The people on the streets quickly made place for the procession. Many staring at Ghost, whispering to each other.

A curtain wall enclosed the headland of fifty acres and the cliffs around the foot of the wide stone bridge which extend out to the largest islet of the castle of Pyke, the Great Keep with Great Hall and the Seastone Chair. The stables, kennels and livestock were located on the headland.

The four guards at the main gate saluted him and didn’t cause any problems. They wore black iron breastplates and pothelms. They were apparently told about their arrival.

The walked over the first bridge. It was around 30 meters over sea level. The Gates of the Great Keep were plain, made from light brown wood, probably new.

Jon felt very nervous. Who he was about to meet was destined to accompany him for the rest of his life.

Great Hall of Pyke was long and smoky. It was already evening so not a lot of light came through the windows located higher in the walls compared to Winterfell.

The legendary Seastone Chair was facing him, located on the dais at the far end of the hall. It was made of a block of oily black stone carved into the shape of a kraken. According to the legend it was found on the shores of Old Wyk by the First Men when they came to settle on the Iron Islands thousands of years ago.

And on the Chair sat a young woman.

_Asha._

Jon walked farther inside so he could a better look. He knew that she was twenty and two currently, six years older than him. Asha was lean and long legged, with dark eyes and black hair cut short. Her face was thin, with a big, sharp nose, and wind-chafed skin. She wasn’t a conventual beauty either. The resemblance to her mother was obvious. Theon was apparently going more after the late Balon. Jon didn’t feel that disappointed though Asha wasn’t really his type. He probably was more into the fair maiden type of woman. However, he had spent three years on Bear Island and Asha reminded him of some of the female warriors there. He did even have a small crush on Lyra Mormont, so there weren’t any mental hurdles to jump over for him.

Asha's attire included a brown quilted tunic, breeches of black wool, a studded belt, and salt-stained high leather boots.

 _Looks like she has intentionally not dressed up for me_ , thought Jon. _Not a good sign for our first meeting. She isn’t even trying to show common courtesy. Seems like she is going to be the defiant, free spirited type of wife. She reminds me of Arya…_

He could live with her sitting in his rightful place. He had allowed it after all. But he didn’t have any lust to play the role of the evil foreigner who was forcing himself on her. It’s not like Jon had chosen her as his bride either.

Asha stared back at him, mustering Jon from hair to bottom. She didn’t seem to be too startled by Ghost and had a serious look on her face.

_I would have been surprised if she would jump at me from joy. I am a walking reminder of her gone brothers and father._

On her sides stood three people, a woman and a man to the left, a man to the right.

On the most left was the woman. She was old with a bent back, dressed in worn, brown clothes. Rodrik had mentioned in his last letter that the old keeper of the castle, Sylas Sourmouth, had died a few months ago. This was apparently his replacement, Helya.

The man to the right of Hyla and closer to Asha wore a long, grey robe with a Maester chain around his neck, it was much shorter than Maester Luwin’s. This was obviously Maester Qualen. Rodrik had told him yesterday that Balon had killed Qualen’s predecessor after the man had failed to heal his brother Urrigon. Rodrik judged him to be dutiful and competent.

To Asha’s right was man in full battle regalia. Jon guessed him to be Dagmer Cleftjaw, the master-at-arms for House Greyjoy of Pyke and captain of the longship Foamdrinker. Captain Dagmer had snow white hair, and a hideous scar. Rodrik had gone a bit in depth about him for Captain Dagmer was apparently Asha’s mentor in all martial aspects. A longaxe blow nearly killed him as a child, splintering his jaw, smashing his front teeth and leaving him with four lips instead of two. He had a shaggy beard, but the hair didn’t grow where the scar was. The man wore many rings, gold and silver and bronze, set with sapphire and garnet and dragonglass. Jon assumed them to be trophies.

_He looks like the stereotype Ironborn captain. Probably a traditionalist too._

Jon and Rodrik had already agreed that the Harlaw would remain the main head of the administration for time being. He however would give more and more of his tasks for Jon - and hopefully Asha - to deal with, so they could ease into their new roles without being needlessly overpowered by paperwork.

Jon tried to think fast about how to properly greet his betrothed when she already began to speak. “So, I suppose you’re my husband-to-be. Is that your dog?”

“It’s a direwolf, my Lady,” explained Jon calmly. “And his name is Ghost. He is my companion and will always be close by.” He made sure to emphasize the last part. Ghost’s presence was something about he would not allow concessions. Ghost was his friend. Additionally, he was an impressive symbol forcing respect towards Jon. Very useful.

All of a sudden Asha smiled. It was a wicked smile. Jon liked it immediately and smiled back without thinking.

Asha gestured to the people by her side who then introduced themselves to Jon one after another. He had guessed their identities correctly. Captain Dagmer seemed the least friendly of them by far.

_Feels like almost every veteran of the Rebellion is less than enthusiastic about my arrival._

Jon wondered if it would maybe help if he had some ugly scars in his face. Probably.

Asha then stood up and walked towards him.

Jon stretched out his left hand for hers, either to shake it or kiss it.

Asha then made a small turn to the left two meters in front of him.

She walked right pass him, not even acknowledging him.

Jon gritted his teeth and tightened his right hand into fist until it hurt.

_What the fuck is this! Fucking shit power games!_

He already dreaded his remaining lifetime. Sadly, he wasn’t even twenty so there remained quite a lot of it.

“It’s good to see you again, Mother.”

Jon turned around and saw Asha hugging Alannys. It seemed like a genuine act to him. His future good-mother had tears in her eyes. Jon was even more puzzled now.

_She might not be so bad after all… Did I overreact?_


	9. First noble Acts (Jon VIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon starts to realize his first plans for Pyke.

He saw Asha the next morning again at breakfast. They spent the night in separate chambers. He had moved to his future solar. Asha remained in her old room in the Bloody Keep, the second biggest islet of Pyke.

She was dressed the same as yesterday. Jon supposed these were her casual clothes for everyday use.

He sat next to her at a table on the side and told Asha about the new name of their house, “Torren”. He had already used it since the King had nobilized him.

“Why not Something-Something-Stark?”

“I am not a Stark. I also didn’t want a compound word. All other Great Houses have names derivating from the Old Tongue, High Valyrian or Old Andal. I feel it’s the first step to achieve the same level of prestige as them. 'Torren' means 'wolf' in the Old Tongue. I think it’s a good name.”

Considering Asha’s expression, she didn’t share his sentiment. “I would rather remain Asha Greyjoy.”

“Call yourselves what you want. If you have a problem, talk to King Robert. But be warned, he’s a lustful fatty and hates _squids_.”

Asha laughed. Apparently, the trick with her was to make condescending comments about others. Jon would remember it for the future. He wasn’t much of a joker, that was always more Robb’s thing, but he could manage.

He showed her the new coat-of-arms. A white wolf on a rock howling towards a moon in front of of a pure black night sky. The rock was surrounded by a bloodred sea, turning it into an islet.

Asha didn’t seem to dislike it.

“I don’t want to find Ghost in our bed by the way.”

“Tell him that yourself. He likes to snuggle.”

They had a friendly discussion afterwards. Jon told her about his plans for Westwatch-by-the-Bridge.

“I am coming with you. Sounds like fun.” Asha said firmly, leaving Jon no chance to argue. She was immediately on board.

Asha then stood up. “I will look for some people who may want to come with us.”

* * *

Jon had called Lord Sawane Botley, the Lord of Lordsport and Lord Waldon Wynch, the Lord of Iron Hold which was located on the other side of the island from the castle Pyke, to meet him in the afternoon in the Great Keep.

They were currently in Jon’s new solar at the top of the Great Keep. He had rearranged it to look similar to his own father’s in Winterfell. Jon liked to sit beside the big window. The light was good there, and whenever he would look up from his work, he could see down to the harbor of Lordsport.

The Houses Botley and Wynch were the two other noble houses on Pyke and because Jon as the Lord Reaper of Pyke, a stupid name probably introduced by someone very childlike in Jon’s opinion, was their direct liege lord he felt he needed to talk to them first.

Lord Sawane was man in his forties. He had laugh wrinkles around his eyes. Jon found him extremely sympathetic early on in their meeting and was pleased about his character.

Lord Wynch on the other side had a stern face. He behaved stiff and formal to Jon but not rude.

Both Lords had sworn him their fealty with a traditional oath without any fuss. Everything was going smooth until now.

Asha was leaning against the wall to the side. Jon hadn’t even thought about inviting her. In retrospect Jon saw it as a big mistake. He wanted to convince her of his competence and letting her observe was an easy start for that. Fortunately, she had apparently decided to show up unannounced anyway.

“The reason I wanted to speak you both in private was to talk about the future of Pyke under my new rule.” Jon began. The other three seemed to listen attentively. “Pyke is the designated capital but both Harlaw and Great Wyk seem to have a higher importance compared to it mainly based on their seize and population. One of my first ambitions is to change that and I am sure you both are with me in this desire, my Lords.”

“And how do you want to accomplish that?” Lord Wynch asked sharply. “Pyke lacks the fertility and mining possibilities compared to these islands.”

“That’s correct, Lord Wynch, but Pyke has one advantage over all other islands. It’s location. Pyke is the southernmost island of the entire region and both Lordsport and Ironhort on the eastern shore are rather well protected from the stormy sea.”

Lord Wynch didn’t look impressed. He knew all this of course.

“My plan is therefore to turn Pyke in the main trading hub of the Islands and the most important transshipment point after Lannisport on the western shore, north of the mouth of the Mander.”

Lord Botley leaned further forward, clearly interested. As the Lord of Lordsport he would obviously be one of the biggest beneficiaries if this succeeded.

“That’s why I want, with your support of course, to abolish as many taxes on trade goods as possible.”

“Impossible!” Jon’s ears hurt a bit from Lord Botley’s yelling. “That’s my main source of income. I won’t give it up!” The man looked very disturbed now

Jon pointed with his left hand at a few ledgers in front of him on the table. “I looked at the numbers and I feel many taxes are useless because the goods are barely shipped here anyway. Others on the alternative side are so high that trade vessels rather dock at Harlaw or don’t stop at the Iron Islands at all. Many merchants are willing to take a longer voyage and follow the coastline deep into the bay, until Seagard even. I think it’s obvious that there is much potential to be found here.”

“I won’t change my stance,” said Lord Botley. “I can’t even. I need it.”

“I would like a compromise, my Lord. Let’s do a test. You try to cut away as many taxes and fees as possible for the next two years. I especially want the fees on grain, timber and wine gone. I am willing to surrender my own share as well and will give you substantial tax-exemptions as long as you do as I said. Additionally, the King has given me 20.000 gold dragons to be used at my discretion. O would invest a part of that money too. If this doesn’t work out everything will go back to the current state. How’s that?”

The money hadn't actually arrived yet, even though it had been promised. Jon desperatley hoped it hadn't "mysteriously vanished". It would help him out a great deal.

“Ships won’t magically arrive when you change some number.” Lord Botley argued after a few seconds of silence. He was much calmer now. Lord Wynch hadn’t said anything and didn’t seem to be too disinclined either. He wasn’t relying on trade as much as the Lord of Lordsport.

Jon tried to stay calm and not jump around in glee.

_I think I am getting through to them!_

“I will write letters to the coastal Lords of the Reach and the Westerlands until Oldtown and the Arbor. Also, at Highgarden and other greater Lords located at rivers. I will tell them of our new changes and say that they can send a message to me if they are interested to participate. In return, I will put their ships under my protection against Ironborn raiders. I will even suggest that if they use Pyke as a port a lot, I could guarantee the safety of their lands. I think it’s an incentive to great for most to ignore.”

“You don’t have the cloud to do that. Some Ironborn Lords might even try to intentionally sabotage you.” Asha finally spoke up. She hadn’t moved the entire time and listened.

Jon looked directly into her eyes. “Maybe not me alone but we all together could, couldn’t we?”

Lord Botley, Lord Wynch and Asha were all silent. They all had the stereotypical Ironborn pride. A trait Jon was counting on.

_None of them will argue me. It makes them look weak and they would have to concede that they’re not as powerful as they believe themselves to be in their personal dream worlds._

“I accept. I will look over my numbers and cut down what I can. Only for one year though, not two.” Lord Wynch said.

“Me too, then” Lord Botley followed. He had a thoughtful expression.

“Great, please send me your plans until the end of the week. Feel free to join our wedding in two days to celebrate our new cooperation.”

Asha abruptly hushed out of the room.

_Hmm, she isn’t looking forward to it, for sure._

* * *

Jon and Asha were going to marry at noon two days after their first meeting. A small ceremony was going being to be done by Asha’s uncle Aeron, the head priest of the Drowned God on the shore directly next to the castle of Pyke and Lordsport.

Jon didn’t really have any opinion about the most prominent faith of the Iron Islands. He held a dislike for the Faith of the Seven. The Seven-Pointed Star was the oldest holy text of 'the Faith'. Jon had read the thick book and didn’t find any comment in them about the apparent taint of bastardy that condemned him to eternal suffering in the afterlife that Septa Mordane had prophesized him. It was written that _'Married men and women must stay faithful to each other until death.'_ According to Jon’s interpretation which he found rather uncontroversial himself it meant that Lord Stark was the true sinner. Funnily enough, Jon didn’t remember the Septa ever preaching about Father’s terrible deeds. Jon had therefore concluded a few years ago that the Faith and its doctrines were total rubbish and should be ignored if they were too inconvenient. He had developed a significant dislike for the Faith of Seven to boot.

Jon held to the Old Gods. He wasn’t exactly sure if they were 'Gods' or if praying to them made any sense for this or the next life, but he believed there was a special, mysterious presence in the Godswood of Winterfell. Looking at the red faces on the Weirwood always gave him the feeling of being in vicinity of something intangible, something greater.

The worship of the Drowned God was like the one of the Old Gods rather informal. The Drowned God was also known as He Who Dwells Beneath the Waves. The religion of the Drowned God was old, dating back to before the coming of the Andals, and the attempts of the Andal invaders to supplant it with the Seven had all failed until now.

In the assault on Pyke a decade ago, the only sept of the isle in Lordsport had been destroyed. Jon had asked Lord Botley to rebuild it. Father had built one for Lady Stark in Winterfell as well to make her feel more comfortable in the foreign lands of the North. Jon had similar motivations. He even repressed his own dislike for Septs because he thought it to be good project from a rational standpoint. He however feared the reaction of the Priests of the Drowned God. Resentment towards mainlanders was a widespread trait on the Isles after all, to Jon’s own disadvantage.


	10. The Wedding (Jon IX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's wedding day has arrived.

In the Ironborn culture two types of marriage existed.

A rock wife was an ironman's true spouse. A rock wife had to be Ironborn and each ironman was allowed only one Ironborn rock wife.

On the other hand, an ironman could keep several salt wives, non-Ironborn women who had been captured on raids. Salt wives were bound to their captors in a religious ceremony, though it was considered a lesser ceremony than that for a rock wife. The number of salt wives kept by an ironman was a symbol of status and virility.

Jon detested this distinction and he had made a silent vow to never take a salt wife for himself. Because they were going to wed in the tradition of the Iron Islands Asha would technically be his rock wife, even though he would never say and see it like that.

The keeping of salt wives was part of the iron born culture since millennia, and while he wanted to, he couldn’t change much about it. It was just too ingrained in the minds of his vassals and how the Ironborn viewed family.

Jon hoped that with a rising prosperity of the people monogamy would develop naturally over the next decades, maybe centuries to the clear primary type of relationship. As a side effect the custom of salt wives would go out of style. Something similar was could be seen in many civilizations he had studied. Even on the Westeros mainland the keeping of concubines was by now a generally disliked practice with the only exception being the Dornish paramours.

He could however try to push the abolishing of thralldom on the Isles. A thrall was an indentured servant, now found in the Seven Kingdoms only in the Iron Islands. Uncle Benjen had however mentioned that the Wildling kept thralls beyond the Wall too.

Thralls of the Ironborn could only be obtained by paying the "iron price", capturing them by raiding, under the Old Way. They were not slaves since they could not be sold and be obtained by paying the "gold price." Unlike the children of slaves, the children of thralls were free if they were born on the Iron Islands.

Male thralls were generally used for farming and mining, activities which many Ironborn considered unsuitable for free men. Educated thralls were valued as stewards, tutors, and scribes, while craftsmen thralls were also highly regarded. Older women were made into scullions, cooks, seamstresses, weavers, or midwives. Fair maidens and girls near their first flowering were taken captive most often on raids, becoming serving girls, whores, or household drudges upon the isles. The most beautiful maidens had the non-choice of becoming salt wives.

He had heard from Septon Chayle who maintained Winterfell’s sept that the Ironborn priests were known to sacrifice thralls to the Drowned God by slitting their throats and giving their bodies to the sea. He hadn’t investigated the matter yet, but Jon wouldn’t be surprised if it was true for the more fanatical and bigoted ones. Asha described her uncle Aeron, the head priest, to be good man overall, so he couldn’t believe it to be common practice.

His pre-predecessor Lord Quellon Greyjoy, Asha’s rather open-minded grandfather, had already abolished thralldom in the past. After his death at the end of Robert’s Rebellion on a raid at the Reach, Balon Greyjoy had reintroduced the custom. Six years later however, it was again abolished. This time forcefully by the victorious armies of King Robert. Every thrall and salt wife had been given the opportunity to leave the Isles and not only a few had taken the chance.

The consequence was that many current “thralls” and salt wives had opted into living on the Isles. Their primary reasoning was that many didn’t want to risk the welfare level they had grown accustomed too, some probably also didn’t want to give their current relationships up. Following this almost all people who stayed were treated by their masters like normal, free people. The traditional non-religious restrictions weren’t applied on them.

Under Lord Rodrik’s regency the taking of thrall was still illegal. However, a not unsubstantial number of captains and Lords had ignored this, slowly trying to fill up their population levels.

The Ironborn were generally not raiding the Westerosi coast but focused themselves on merchant ships. Jon thought that it was one side surprisingly smart but one the other side also extremely cowardly. It didn’t fit with all the talk about the iron price. He doubted that most boarded crews put up a challenging fight and all probably had tried to flee beforehand.

Jon had already asked Lord Rodrik to send a message to all greater and smaller Lords. The Lords were to spread Jon’s words to their men naturally.

Jon as the new Overlord didn’t explicitly order them to free all their thralls. Many would resist any order from him just out of spite, no matter how sensible it was. Instead he had promised monetary incentives by offering tax exemptions if they followed his _offer_. He believed that many, no matter how much they rattled on about the “iron price” would follow their lust for gold.

The plan would also help to classify the nobles and captains regarding their positions to Jon.

In the message that also introduced him as the new acting Lord of the Iron Isles Jon had additionally written that he convinced the King to lift all trade restrictions imposed with the end of Balon’s Rebellion. It would surely create some good will for him.

Jon hadn’t done that in truth, it was a lie. The original restrictions were meant to last for a decade and were going to run out at the end of the year anyway. With Father as the Hand of the King Jon couldn’t believe that King’s Landing would use their option to extend the time of additional taxes. Jon felt it was one of his greatest ideas yet.

* * *

Jon arrived at the shore were the wedding ceremony was going to take place half an hour earlier than intended. With him were Rodrik, Lord Botley and his son Tris. Rodrik had asked him to let Ghost remain in the castle. He would perhaps disturb the attending priest.

Jon was dressed in clothes that someone had laid in his rooms. A velvet, black tunic, grey trouser and leather boots. Nothing impressive but it depicted his wealth. He had Robb’s sword sheathed as if he was battle-ready.

On the morning of the wedding day Jon had agreed after Maester Qalen’s prompting to get baptized by a priest before the main ceremony. Followers of the religion were usually symbolically drowned by having salt water poured over their heads by a priest or having their head placed in the sea water.

A group of smallfolk, guards and sailors, maybe two dozen were already expecting them. The water thankfully very calm today and it was rather sunny. A few priests were waiting with bare feet in the water, dressed only in light robes. The man in their center immediately fell into Jon’s eyes.

“That’s Aeron Greyjoy,” warned Rodrik by his side. “Be careful with him.”

Aeron was tall and thin with fierce black eyes and a beak of a nose. He wore a roughspun wool robe dyed in grey. The sour-faced man apparently never cut his hair and beard, which fell to his waist and had seaweed woven into it. He carried a waterskin on his belt. Jon assumed it was filled with seawater and would be used in the coming baptism.

Jon hadn’t expected Aeron’s presence yet. Considering that he was Asha’s uncle and the leader of the priests of the Drowned God it seemed rather foolish in retrospect.

While they were working towards him Rodrik gave him some more information about Aeron.

“He considers himself a prophet who can hear the Drowned God. He attributes all discord in the Iron Islands to the Storm God, the Drowned God’s archenemy. It’s vital that we win him to our side. No matter how dumb his words are, do not argue him. His influence would help us a great deal, especially with the common men.”

When they reached him, Jon introduced himself with humility. “Honorable prophet Damphair, I am so pleased to see you here. I am Jon Torren.”

Aeron did not look very impressed. “Of course, as the eyes and voice of the Drowned God I have to inspect the new Lord himself! I need to make sure the new leader isn’t a servant of the Storm God, the evilest of schemers and one without any scruple. The Storm Lord has control over all Greenlanders. A lackey of his would surely lead all the Isles into doom!”

The priests by the side promptly quivered and stared at Jon extra hard trying to find the taint of the hated enemy.

Aeron stretched out his arms clearly asking Jon to come into the water and Jon followed without hesitation. In Aeron’s presence the smell of the sea suddenly intensified a hundredfold. He barely managed not to grimace.

The priest suddenly put his hands on both sides of Jon’s head. He leaned forward deeply looking into Jon’s eyes. Jon gazed back calmly ignoring the utter disregard of the respect his station deserved.

Aeron’s eyes widened. He apparently had found something. Jon hoped it wasn’t something bad.

“Ahhh… yes… I see it!” The man yelled loudly enough that all could hear it, while stepping back deeper into the water which now reached up over his knees. “The touch! The touch of the Drowned God! This man has been blessed by all our great Lord already!”

Jon was completely confused and a look to Rodrik and Lord Botley showed a similar sentiment by their expressions.

He was trying to reason what Aeron was talking about until he remembered something.

_My first fight! I almost drowned versus the wildlings before Bear Island._

After gathering himself he loudly called out, “Two years ago, great prophet!”

Aeron now seemed completely ecstatic. “Amazing, the Drowned God is watching us! He has clearly decided to send someone he approved of! Lord Torren, I will advise you whenever needed. Me and the drowned men will support your actions.”

Jon couldn’t help but making a small laugh. He remembered that the drowned men were the acolytes of the priests of the Drowned God.

_This is too easy!_

“Then the ceremony isn’t needed anymore?” Jon asked hopefully.

“No, we need to drown you anyway! You are already blessed by the Drowned God, so we must do it in the true way. The Drowned God demands it!” Aeron yelled.

_Doing it truly... what does that mean?_

Jon had barely time to take Aeron’s words in when the man already packed him by the left upper arm and lead him out into the water. Jon didn’t resist.

Then they stopped, the cold water reaching Jon’s hips by now. Aeron’s asked Jon to kneel. His head barely remained over the water.

Aeron grabbed his head and all of a sudden forcefully pushed his face under water.

 _By the Gods, what’s this!_ Jon screamed in his mind.

He tried to stand up, but Aeron was apparently much stronger than his lanky appearance made him appear.

_Is he actually trying to murder me? He lured me into false security just to kill me!_

That seemed to make the most sense for him in the moment. Jon was now absolutely desperate for air, his legs kicking out in all direction, waving his hands around to grasp something to pull himself up.

He couldn’t do anything. After some time, Jon lost his energy and stopped struggling.

_Air… Need air…_

He felt his lifeforce literally leaving him.

Eventually Jon knew nothing anymore.

* * *

_Air… Air!_

He was breathing… breathing in.

Jon opened his eyes and looked up. He saw light, a blue sky. Then he saw hair, lots of grey, unkempt hair.

It was Aeron. “Ha! The Drowned God has sent him back, as I have foreseen, and so quickly even! Jon Torren still has a great part of play. The Drowned God decrees it!”

Jon was freezing and starting to bibber. He had a disgusting taste in his mouth but decided to not think about it much longer.

“Are you alright, Jon?” That was Rodrik, from his left side.

Jon pushed his head and torso up with his hands, after a few seconds he was even able to stand and looked around.

He recognized everyone from before. Jon himself was a few meters away from the water.

_They must have dragged me here. It seems I wasn’t away for a long time._

He tried to remember what he had seen.

_I saw a lot of white, maybe snow… a snowstorm? And there was something golden flashing…_

He couldn’t make sense out of it.

_This was my second 'vision' already?_

Aeron had apparently even recognized that he had once almost died through drowning years ago.

_Maybe there is more to the Drowned God than I thought._

* * *

An Ironborn wedding was a rather dull affair Jon found compared to the ceremonies in the North or the southern mainland. He still had his clothes on and was waiting with the rest of the attendees on Asha. He had just wrung out his clothes and wore a thick mantle that Maester Qualen had given him. He didn’t want to receive a cold, that was going to be embarrassing. There were no cloaks going to be traded so he didn't hold one in his hands. 

He and Asha would walk into the water together, slowly until both their groins were under water.

_Possibly problematic when there’s a big head difference. And fucking water… again._

Jon had suddenly developed a health dose of dislike for the sea. He just hoped he wouldn’t make a fool out of himself.

Finally, a group from the direction of the castle towards them. Jon recognized Alannys after some time at the head of the procession, surrounded by some female servants. She had a green dress on and an easy smile on her face. She looked nothing like at their first meeting and was actually quite easy on the eyes now.

_I wouldn't doubt that she’s going to be the happiest person here._

Jon was unexplainably nervous again.

 _This is it. No coming back from here_ , he realized.

He finally saw Asha; she was led arm-in-arm by Rodrik who had returned to Pyke a few minutes ago. She wore a white dress from satin that reached to her bare feet. It had golden Greyjoy squids stitched on. She had a neutral expression on. Jon found her appearance rather pleasing. She looked a lot womanlier now. He saw curves that he didn’t even dreamed of in the last days.

As Asha and Jon were standing next to each other with their hands losely linked Aeron was starting to blabber something. Jon didn’t really listen, but he managed to answer appropriately whenever necessary.

“Do you Jon Torren swear by the great Drowned God to always protect Asha Greyjoy with your life and give her food and clothes?”

Jon had memorized what to say. “I do.”

“And do you Asha Greyjoy swear by the great Drowned God to serve Jon Torren with all you have, keep the hearth and his bed warm like a good rock wife should?”

Silence, for several seconds.

_Oh please, Gods! Don’t fu-_

“I swear.” Her tone was far from enthusiastic but it counted anyway.

Jon let out a silent wheeze from relief. Not silent enough it seemed because Asha’s grip on his hand turned painfully tight.

After some more religious preaching from Aeron they waded deep into the sea waters. When Jon's groin was in the water, it almost reached Asha's chest. The woman took Jon by his shoulders and hauled him towards her. Their lips meet just as the custom demanded, but not even for whole second. It wasn’t really anything special, except very salty.

_My first kiss!_

Asha had swiftly moved away again and dragged him back to the beach.

Jon didn’t really remember a lot of the way back to the Great Hall of Pyke where a feast had been prepared except for a lof of contragulations, not all of people he recognized. He was still a bit stumped by the realization that he was a married man now.

And Asha Greyjoy was his wife.


	11. A Dreamnight (Jon X)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual mature scenes. I want to emphasize that I try to keep all scenes, and sexual scenes especially, plot relevant.  
>   
> 

When Jon was alone with Asha in their new chambers, he was happy he could still stand properly. He had tried to not drink himself into stupor but still drunk more than he should probably have.

There was a wide dark red colored bed in the center, the biggest Jon had ever seen. He knew that it was Balon’s before, his late good-father now. Its presence was almost omnious as a sign of what was to come.

Ghost was somewhere else, fortunately. Jon doubted Asha would appreciate his presence.

Asha was standing besides the bed already. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”

Jon didn’t respond, but the blush on his cheeks seemed to be answer enough.

Asha laughed, laughed at him. “Ohhh, I can’t believe that," she swooned. "A maiden until the wedding night, it’s like in the songs…”

“I would never dishonor a woman I am not married to!" Jon defended himself vehemently. "I am a bastard myself. It’s not a life I wish on anyone.” Jon tried to make sure to not leave any room for further discussion about this topic.

“Alright, alright. I will tell you what to do then. Now, strip!” Asha was sitting on the bed sideways now. She made no moves to take her wedding grown off herself and only stared at him intently.

Jon twitched a bit around nervously. He had never done this with a woman before after all. “We don’t have to do it necessarily, you know. We can wait," he proposed. Asha did after all marry him against her own wishes.

“Am I not beautiful enough?" she asked sharply. "I won’t get spurned on the wedding night to be known as an ugly spinster.”

 _I rather doubt you are maiden..._ Jon decided it was wiser to not voice his thoughts out loud.

He took of his belt and tunic off first, then unlaced his breeches and let them drop after some seconds of hesitation.

“The rest too!” came from the bed.

Eventually he was standing in the room completely bare. It was rather cool in the open room like this actually.

“Hmmm, at least that’s something I can work with. Ha!” Asha had a wide smirk on her face. “Come here and help me take off my grown. I hate these fancy dresses. Memorize this sight for you will never see me in one again! I only wore it for Mother.”

Jon slowly walked towards her who had stood up again and turned her back towards him. He didn’t really know what do but after some nervous fumbling he somehow managed to open the back of the dress. The grown immediately dropped down and Jon jumped back a step.

Asha got swiftly rid of her remaining clothes and spun around. “What’s your problem?”

Jon was dazed staring at her body. He had never really seen a young woman naked this closely in his life. He had never entered a brothel and tried gazing away from any indecent sights in the North. Asha's sex was surrounded by a bush of dark hair, her areolas were dark and stood out clearly from her lighter skin. Jon found the female features memorizing.

“Come here and touch me.” Asha's order sounded rather annoyed. She took his hands by force and put them on her still noticeably sized breasts. Jon fel her nipples stiffening, Theon told Robb and him that it was a sign of the woman's arousal.

_So soft…_

“You like that, don’t you? The more you please me the more I will let you allow in the future.”

Asha maneuvered Jon around and then pushed hard against his chest. Jon stumbled back hitting and falling on the bed. “Lay down! I am in charge for tonight. I expect you to pull your weight in the future though. I don’t want to be known as some unfaithful slut in the future so you better fulfill my needs. And believe me… they are rather… extensive.”

Jon moved himself into the middle of the bed and made himself comfortable. His member already hard.

 _Asha wants to be in charge. What’s the point in fighting her_ , Jon justified his behaviour.

The woman then shifted himself on his upper legs. She grabbed his manhood and abruptly prompted herself up. She adjusted their positions a bit and then dropped down without warning.

Both them gasped. After a few moments Asha started moving.

Jon had never felt like this before. He really started enjoying himself after a short while and grasped Asha by the hips to let her pussy slide easier on his shaft. His new wife in all aspects had a smile on her face as well while she moved herself up and down on him in a steady rythm.

“Should we kiss?” Jon asked puzzled. He was sure that kissing was a normal part of coupling as well.

“No.”

* * *

Afterwards they were laying next to each other, sweating and breathing heavily.

“So, what’s our next plan?” Jon asked to break the silence.

“Well, I found a few crewmembers already to go north with us.”

Asha was apparently pretty excited for the venture. Jon knew she had traveled to Lys to the south-east of Westeros before, but never far north.

“I am waiting for a letter from my father first. He should have arrived in King’s Landing by now.” Jon explained. “Afterwards we can go. We need to take quite a bit of food with us. Westwatch is located around 40 meters above the Milkwater. The canyon there is called the Gorge. On the side is only a small path upwards carved into the rock, so I plan to ask the Watch to build a goods crane on our side for us. They already have one on the south. We can use theirs at our first landing maybe.”

“How many ships can we bring?” Asha asked curiously.

That was one of the biggest challenges. “Maybe three longships. They have to be on the small side. It’s not that deep and there is no space to turn around. My cog won’t fit but I think your _Black Wind_ will.”

After a few moments Asha turned towards him. “We can’t move lots of woods then. It doesn’t sound efficient.”

“I plan to ask Lady Maege to use Bear Island as a transition point. I was fostered there, and we have very good relationship, so I don’t believe that she will deny my request. We can have some small longships move the timber and food back and forth between the Gorge and the island. From Bear Island we will use bigger vessels for the transport route to the Iron Islands.”

“Alright," Asha accepted lightly with a small smile. "Sounds good to me. Let’s sleep now though.”

* * *

The first thing Jon felt was the taste of raw flesh on his tongue.

_I am Ghost again._

By now he had ascertained quite a bit about his strange dreams. He had experimented a bit on their journey from Barrowton to Harlaw.

If both Jon and Ghost slept, Jon would dream normally. If Ghost was awake however he would see the direwolf's perspective. Jon couldn’t do it without penalty however. He had arranged their sleep schedule to differ for a while. After the third day he could hardly concentrate and had to stay in bed, so fatigued was he. His mind had been sleepy, not his body. Obviously, his mind didn’t recover while having his wolfdreams.

Jon had a good notion what was happening. Old Nan had told stories about 'wargs', allegedly myths. He wondered what else from her stories was true.

Originally, he had only been a passenger in Ghost sensing and feeling what the direwolf did. By now he was able to act himself, only with Ghost’s allowance though. Somehow, he always felt Ghost’s 'mind' besides his own. When he tried jumping on the railing of the _Sea Wolf_ Ghost had forcefully taken control again, pushing him out of his body. Jon had awoken immediately in his own bed with a massive headache for the next few hours.

He, or they, decided to wander in the Great Keep. A few servants were cleaning up the Great Hall, two guards with their pot helmets patrolling the corridors.

Then he saw a figure he recognized and that shouldn’t be out in the corridors.

It was Asha. She was dressed in a dark non-transparent night grown. She had likely left the bed and swiftly put it on.

_What’s she doing out here?_

Jon followed her but Asha quickly noticed him and kneeled on the cold stone floor reaching out towards him.

Jon, or better Ghost, was reaching 130 centimeters in height with the top of his head on all four, allowing Asha to pat his head. “Hey, Ghost. What are doing out alone out here?”

Jon only reacted by showing how much he liked her touch, wagging his tail. It was odd to use muscles he didn’t have in his real body.

“You are such a big boy, aren’t you?" Asha cooed. "Jon said you will grow bigger than a pony, hmmm.”

His wife moved her head directly in front of Jon. He immediately decided to lick her, prompting a surprised yell.

“Well, looking at you I already see what you will become… a big, mighty monster of mass slaughter.” Asha laughed lightly.

Jon didn’t find it funny at all, and hit her with his right front paw on the thigh.

 _We aren’t a weapon!_ Jon tried to say but only managed a silent wheeze.

Asha was standing again and started to walk away. Jon trailed her to find out what she was doing out on her wedding night. They crossed a walkway and eventually stopped at a small room in the Bloody Keep. Jon recognized it as Asha’s personal room that she had been using until now.

They both entered and found Tris Botley waiting in the middle of the chamber.

“Asha! I knew you would come!” the young Ironborn exclaimed with a wide smile on his face and stretched out his arms.

Asha didn’t take up the opportunity to embrace him though and walked by him. She sat down on her personal bed looking at Tris seriously.

The man moved towards her. “Asha, this marriage doesn’t change anything for us," he said passionately. "We can still be together. That green bastard in your wedding bed doesn’t mean much to me.”

Asha stretched out her hands to stop him from coming too close to her. “I am a married woman now," she replied. "I swore oaths of fidelity. I won’t break my word on my wedding night already.”

“He’s barely a man, and not even an Ironborn!”

“He still my husband and nominally the Lord of the Iron Islands. He’s a good person. He’s a thinker, too nice and too soft in my opinion. But I think our expedition beyond the Wall has potential for all Ironborn and it was his idea. The wildlings won’t want to play house. I believe this will test and harden him.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“If he is unable to fulfill his duties as a Lord, he will die. Not now or soon though," Asha explained coldly. "The problem is the succession. The King won’t just allow me to take over, Jon told me he hates Ironborn. I need to birth an heir beforehand. I can then take charge by regency.”

“Is that the plan then?” Tris looked much calmer by now. "Do you want me to get you with child?" he asked swiftly.

Asha let out a laugh. "No, I don't think so. Jon's cute enough for me. Let us just say how he will makes himself in the coming months."

Jon was rather disturbed by what he heard. He felt like crying.

 _I thought we were one a good way. It’s all a just an act…_

He didn’t love Asha but Rodrik had said she was on their side. Jon had trusted her even though he only knew his wife for less than a week.

Asha was placatory now. “He’s not all bad, you know. I think he’s really trying his best.”

“His best won’t be good enough," Tris replied sharply. "He doesn’t understand us, our culture. He is already trying to change us. What is this dumb plan about working wildlings? We aren’t traders, we are Ironborn! He’s going to lead us to ruin, I tell ya.”

Asha had developed a rather annoyed expression throughout Tristifer’s rant. “We can talk again if you have calmed yourself down. For now, shut up and get out!”

Lord Botley’s spare heir looked hesitant, still standing in the middle of the room.

“If you don’t comply, I will tell Ghost to attack you. He’s loyal to Jon and therefore to me too.”

Tris had apparently missed Jon until now. He blanched and quickly moved for the door making a big bow around the direwolf.

“Come here, boy. Jon told me you like snuggling.” Asha had laid down on the bed and stretched her hands out towards him.

Jon trotted towards her and jumped up. When he was comfortable in her embrace, he forced himself out and awoke in his wedding bed.

He tried to clear his thought but couldn’t manage it at all.

_Should I confront Asha? Or should I talk to Rodrik? I am sure he is still on my side..._

He wasn’t quite so sure about that anymore too actually. Doubt spread in his mind and he couldn’t come up with a good way to deal with the situation.

Eventually he fell in a restless sleep.


	12. The Greyjoys' Legacy (Asha I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha is struggeling in her new position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first Asha chapter. Keep in mind that this a AU version of her character, which is leaned on her canon version. I hope it worked to believably introduce her actual character.

Asha was currently sitting in the Seastone Chair in the Great Hall of Pyke receiving petitioners.

She had been doing this now for almost five years. On every new moon, everybody, no matter their station, would be allowed to speak out in front of her, assuming she was on the island, about any matter concerning the island of Pyke. Of course, the courts of Lord Botley and Lord Wynch were primarily responsible for any problems on their lands, but the court of the Lord Reaper of Pyke was the competent authority for everything happening on the entire island, as the Lord of the Iron Island's it was even responsible for the entire region.

Currently there were on the last issue of the day. It had been six hours with only a lunch break since she started at late morning.

 _Please, make it short_ , she prayed.

“M'Lady, my neighbor Urrigon here has taken one of my seven pigs and butchered it. Take this thief’s head m’Lady, only fair!” a disheveled peasant in brown rags asked below her, the accusing party.

The blamed Urrigon, similarly dressed, didn’t seem to feel very guilty. “M’Lady, this man tells lies, I tell ya. This man’s tyke stole my youngest girl’s maidenhead and got her with child. I lost a pretty dowry of that. I only took what was due for me ’n’ my family.”

 _Uhhh… fucking great._ Asha already felt a new headache incoming.

“How high is the lost dowry?” she asked.

“Baker already promised to give me a third less on all bread the next two years for my sweet flower’s hand, m’Lady.”

_What kind of deal is this? How should I know how that compares to a pig?_

Asha didn't know the current prices exactly but she guessed the value of the pig at maybe twenty stags. It had been a pretty mild day until now, but by now she was tired and couldn’t take a lot of dumb shit anymore. It was better for everyone present to end the session swiftly.

“Well, it goes without saying that the boy will marry the girl as soon as possible, responsibility has to be taken,” Asha declared. “The costs of the ceremony will be shared equally between both households. The dowry is the butchered pig, nothing more. The real wronged party is the baker though. As punishment for causing the breaking of the betrothal and for taking the pig unannounced you and your households are both to pay a third more for the bread you buy from the baker for the entire next year. I assume he’s the only one in your village?”

“T’is, m’Lady.” Both men didn’t look very happy now, but they deserved it for their stupidity.

“Good, then that’s my final word, and no arguing.”

* * *

Half an hour later she walked out of the keep down the hill towards Lordsport. A guard had told her that Jon and Ghost had been seen at the harbour several times in the last week.

On the way, she was thinking about her new husband. After their wedding Jon had for some reason avoided her. They barely talked to each other and he slept in his own room which he had also used before the wedding. Asha was even getting concerned that she had overdone it on their first night. Maybe his fragile male pride couldn’t handle being not in charge for once, or maybe he didn’t believed her to be beautiful enough. Ashe knew she wasn’t an orthodox beauty and didn’t behave like a real lady. She couldn’t quite comprehend what Jon was thinking, he was more of the quiet type, unlike herself.

She had observed her husband for several days to judge him appropriately; his work ethic, his talks with vassals, also the plans both short- and long-term he had revealed to her. She had quickly concluded that Jon had well-meant intentions for the Ironborn.

Nevertheless, clear from her first meeting was that the man, barely out of boyhood in truth, was a foreigner in this land, not only by blood, but also in mind. He seemed to reject violence which Asha could only comprehend up to a point. Ironborn were warriors; fighting was in their blood, reaving part of their culture. They couldn’t all become traders and craftsmen.

_Jon will never understand our culture, not truly. And he can’t change it like he wishes to do._

Many captains of the Iron Fleet were already starting to squint at the Westerosi coast again. Asha thought them to be rather foolish. Just a decade ago they had suffered total defeat, now the situation looked even worse.

Rodrik had educated her and curbed out her wildest streaks when she still was a girl. The “Old Ways” were outdated. In the end it wasn’t a sustainable lifestyle to constantly attack your closest neighbors who were outnumbering you up to ten to one in population seize alone.

That didn’t mean however that she would just take any degradation of her people. Jon’s presence was a humiliation, to see it otherwise was impossible. Asha was Ironborn to the bone and she was proud of it.

_He can’t replace Father. I will never allow that._

Almost every night she saw the Kingslayer take her father's head on order of King Robert himself.

At the moment she couldn’t really do anything against him, but she knew at some point she would get her chance. And she would take that chance if necessary.

_Theon is gone, my other brothers are dead. I am the rightful heir to the Greyjoy line. If I ruled, I would bring the Ironborn long-term prosperity like no man has ever done before._

Jon wasn’t her biggest obstacle, neither were any other Ironborn for they would be inclined to accept her rule because of her blood. It was the approval of the mainlanders that was crucial, as much as she hated it to admit. The Iron Fleet now wasn’t strong enough compared to the Lannister, Redwyne and Royal Fleets to control the Sunset Sea. That was also why she approved of the rather wacky plan to take wood from the lordless Haunted Forest beyond the Wall, they needed more and better ships.

_Maybe we could rule together as equals. I could be the real Lady of the Iron Islands, in the open, while he is working on his projects somewhere overseas._

She finally spotted the massive white direwolf. Ghost was hard to overlook, and his presence alone did probably more for Jon’s security than half a dozen guards.

Jon was sitting on one of the stone docks feeding the sea gulls with bread crumps. A fishing rod was laying behind him next to a small braided basket.

She walked towards him. Ghost only acknowledged her arrival with a short glance. Asha liked the animal which had apparently just finished eaten a big fish from the mess in front of him.

Ghost never made a sound and always projected an aura of power around him. Asha would like to have him accompany her more often. It would definitely help boost her image and resolve while talking with some more unruly men who sometimes had a hard time taking orders from a _woman_. He also had amazingly soft fur making him extremely cuddly, not that Asha would ever say that out loud.

“Don’t feed the birds, they are annoying enough,” she said. “You will just prompt them to steal bread from the smallfolk in the future.”

Jon looked up from gulls towards her. Asha had to admit that he had a handsome face and a rather attractive lean body. His appearance was not something she could complain about.

“Sorry, I just enjoy it here. The birds help me with stuff.”

_'Stuff?' Have I missed something?_

Asha knew that her husband was a dreamer. He had great plans about Westwatch and the Stepstones. But Asha believed that he lacked sight over the small things. Holding court should have been Jon’s job by right, but he was letting her do it instead. He was talking with the Lords of Pyke which were visiting every two days or something. He received letters from many Lords at the western Westerosi coast as well.

Honestly, an Ironborn like her didn’t have the reputation to pull of the things he wanted to do. No mainlander would trust Asha like they would the son of the honorable Lord Stark. That was the main reason why she tried to be open-minded towards him; he was an asset the Isles never had before.

She was actually still a bit mad that the King had gifted Jon 20.000 gold dragons. The money had arrived three days ago. While the coinage would surely help them in the future, it would have been of much greater use directly after the Rebellion. Thousands of the smallfolk had starved because they didn't have anything left after the mainlander armies had plundered most of the archipelago.

Apparently, Jon didn’t want to explicate, but she wasn’t someone one could easily get rid of.

“I held court the entire day. Aren’t you the Lord now? It’s your job.”

Jon answered calmly. “Didn’t you do it for years? Assuming you did a good job, the people trust you, the last child of Balon. I don’t think it would be wise to take your position. I don’t have the feeling that you would rather do some needlework like a classic lady.”

_True, I guess. I can hardly argue that._

But she wouldn’t just give up. Asha was tired and annoyed that Jon was lazing around.

“And what are you doing these days?” she asked sharply.

“I was required to placate some priests of the Drowned God. They felt threatened by the new sept.”

“They are right, it’s a dumb idea.” Asha didn’t have a great opinion of the Faith, and she knew Jon held to the Old Gods of the North.

“It’s just going to be a small hut from stone. Rodrik acquired some small statues of the Seven. I had to promise that there won’t be a new septon to take care of the sept. Rodrik’s librarians are apparently septons and one of them will visit once a month.”

Asha knew some of them, not closely though. She was getting tired of standing by now and sat herself down next to Ghost stroking her fingers through his white hide.

“And what are you doing now?”

“I have tried to decide what we should do with the new wood we will have soon.”

_He is mighty poised it’s going to work…_

“Build ships, no?”

“Yeah, but not Ironborn longships. If we want to gain a foothold on the Stepstones and hold them we need bigger vessels. I was thinking about Braavosi galleys.”

Asha didn’t like the sound of that. Longships were their chosen shiptype since centuries.

“We need to expand the shipyards then, I guess," she told him eventually. "And I don’t think the Braavosi will just part from their builders. Aren’t they one of their most prized and secured laborers?”

“That’s right, the problems are our ship builders.” Jon nodded with a slight smile. “They don’t have the knowledge and experience to build bigger ships of a different class. They can only build longships and cogs as far as I know.”

“So, what’s your great solution then?”

“Well, it’s good that you are here. Let’s send an expedition of loyal and diplomatic men to the south-western Free Cities, Pentos and the Three Sisters. The Pentoshi aren’t allowed to have a war fleet by Braavos, you know, so that would be the primary location to find some experienced men who want to make some easy coin. We need people who can give our structures a makeover and change the Iron Fleet’s composition for the better. You know who could make the trip successfully, surely?”

After a bit of consideration Asha had an answer. She wanted to go herself, but she already had decided to go to Westwatch with Jon. The shipbuilders were only of great use if they got the wood after all. And if it didn’t work out, she could still do it herself.

“I would ask Ser Harras Harlaw,” she proposed. “He’s my relative and one of the smarter ones. He spent some time in the Westerlands, his mother is a Serrett of Silverhill. He’s good friends with Uncle Rodrik too.”

“Good, can you contact him and prepare his voyage?” Jon gazed in Asha’s eyes now awaiting her answer.

_Do I look like some imbecile?_

“’Course I can! I will start tomorrow.”

Asha stood up and already started turning around when she remembered the real reason why she came to see Jon. She moved directly next to him.

“Tell me,” she began slowly. “Am I too ugly for you?”

“Huh?” Jon looked startled up to her. He had to strain his neck because Asha was so close. After a few seconds he opened his mouth again. “No, of course not. I just… wasn’t prepared for a relationship, I guess. We can lay together from now on again if you want.”

 _That’s way too easy_ , Asha thought. _That’s a half-truth at best. I need to know what’s this about._

She didn’t want to accept being some on-call bed warmer. She had also some pride as a woman even if she behaved rather boyish.

“From now on we will always sleep in the same bed then. Is that a problem?” she snapped.

_Probably too aggressive?_

It wasn’t that she necessarily wanted to birth an heir as quickly as possible, though it would be advantageous. Asha had long accepted the fact that as a noblewoman without any other available scions of her line she had to perform the duty at least once. She wasn’t the motherly type and planned to give the child to Mother to raise nevertheless. Mother’s mind was in a better condition than ever since the Rebellion because of the wedding and a grandchild would surely help significantly to heal her broken heart even more.

“Ehhh, sure… if that’s your wish. I am still a man, only a fool would disagree with that, no?”

Jon smiled at her. Asha liked his smile, but she realized something now: _It’s fake. He’s wearing a mask._

She knew he could be a rather good actor and was able to manage his emotions rather well, she had seen it on their wedding day, until the consummation he was able to keep calm admirably. Necessary skills when dealing with some of the more unruly and ambitious vassals.

Asha wasn’t sure if Jon did it intentionally. He had made the impression of a very honest and moral person to her until now.

Swiftly going over their past conversations, she concluded that he wasn’t as open to her as she had believed. He had even thrown her off earlier in the conversation with the talk of the expedition to the east.

_He fucking manipulated me! Fucking bastard!_

She noted in the back of her mind that there existed the possibility he hadn’t actually flat out lied in her face and that is was likely he would have given her the task to organize the voyage either way, but at the moment she was too angry to care.

“Great, I am looking forward to it," she ended their discussion decisively managing to suppress her emotions and sauntered off, trying to convey a nonchalant attitude. Asha didn’t want to portray herself as some fickle woman who offered herself without the will to pull through.


	13. Beware of Lions (Jon XI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has to deal with Dagmer Cleftjaw and recieves a letter from King's Landing.

In the six weeks since his wedding Jon received countless ravens from southern Lords from the Westerlands and the Reach. They all had accepted his proposal, many with great enthusiasm. Several ships from the Westerlands had already stopped at Pyke to trade, making a detour on their way to the Riverlands. Some Lords seemed desperate to make sure that Jon’s side of the deal would be adhered to as swiftly as possible.

Jon had also received answers from various ports of the North to various motions.

Lady Dustin had written that Barrowton was ready to trade with Pyke. She had however also mentioned that she would start cautiously to see if Jon was able to control his vassals to a satisfying degree.

The Lord of Flint’s Finger on the other hand told him that no true Northerner would ever associate himself with 'mad reaver scum'. Other insults to the Ironborn and their new Overlord were additionally included in the message. Jon had already tried to mentally prepare himself for similar attitudes from the countless amount of people who had been wronged by the Ironborn in the past.

Lord Glover of Deepwood Motte had agreed to supply Westwatch over the coming months with food at just above market prize. This was crucial for the success of the venture. It would be inefficient to constantly transport food over two thousand kilometers. Jon desperately hoped the agreement would last long-term.

Lady Maege had also agreed that Bear Island, specifically Mormont Keep, could be used as a transhipment port and that the Mormonts would even provide warehouses as long as Jon would pay the maintance costs with a bonus. The deal would be dissolved however if the coming Ironborn made serious problems. Jon judged these terms to be very favourable for him and thanked the Old Gods for his great relationship with the people of Bear Island.

* * *

It was noon. Jon was standing in the training yard of the castle Pyke dressed in full battle gear and only his steel bastard sword in his right hand.

The master-of-arms of Pyke, Dagmer Cleftjaw, had apparently decided to teach the “foreigner boy” as Jon always got called by him a lesson and challenged him to a real fight without further protection. Dagmer believed one could only learn to fight properly if any mistake could cost you a hand, or your life. Jon thought that was both stupid and a lie but didn’t voice his opinion out loud. He was surely not teaching Asha and Theon with real steel weapons when they weren’t even big enough to swing a full metal sword without losing their balance.

Facing him, five meters away, stood Dagmer Cleftjaw. He wielded a one-sided battle axe in his right hand, just big enough that the muscular Ironborn could still comfortably hold it with one arm. In his left hand he held a wooden buckler.

_Such madness! One halfway clean hit is going to split me in half._

Jon was extremely nervous for he lacked a death wish. Jon had seen Dagmer in action on the training yard already and the man was a true menace. He was old by now, but you could see his vast battle experience in his brutal style. Asha had told him that Dagmer had been the most dreaded warrior of the Iron Islands in his youth. That youth had been at least forty years ago, possibly even more. His hair was white, and his teeth rotten by now. The Ironborn's body on the other side was still in great fighting shape, Dagmer trained every day.

Jon was also very angry because this match was a completely unnecessary. He was the Lord here, not some expendable foot soldier.

“Are you ready for a lesson, Lord Pyke?”

_Oh, he really doesn’t respect me at all._

'Lord Pyke' was apparently Jon’s main moniker here. From what he had seen through Ghost’s eyes it was used in the entire isle of Pyke. It was quite likely that it was commonly used in the entire archipelago.

The name was surprisingly clever for the Ironborn in Jon’s opinion. He had expected a simpler insult like 'Bastard Wolf' or 'Snow Babe'. Jon was the Lord of Pyke after all and it would make him look rather petty if he punished a lowborn for not using a word of two letters. 'Pyke' was obviously in truth an allusion to his origins, being the name highborn bastards received that were born on the Iron Islands. Jon secretly questioned why it was the name of one of the islands and not “Iron” or something similar, comparable to all other regions of Westeros. He guessed the Ironborn just had to be special in every aspect of life.

The fact that Dagmer used it showed that he didn’t like Jon, neither as his liege nor as a man or fellow warrior. It was an insult of the highest order, questioning his legitimacy, and Jon couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

_Time to beat some respect in this geezer._

The first strikes were just light testing from both giving Jon no trouble.

Dagmer wasn’t very patient however and soon made a leap forwards to Jon’s right and swung axe vertically with power and a battle cry.

Jon was able to block easily. While he just had his name day, making him five and ten, he already had some ample battle experience and had been trained by Ser Rodrik Cassel, Ser Wylis Manderly and Ser Jorah Mormont, three experienced fighters that had received their knighthoods on merit. Jon had honed his swordmanship for almost two-thirds of his live.

After about three minutes of Dagmer’s aggression Jon was starting to sweat. He had to acknowledge Dagmer’s experience. The Ironborn lacked the fine technique that Jon had picked up and his fighting style was more focused on brute force coupled with improvisations out of an instinct born from hundreds of battles.

Even though Jon only held one blade in both hands and therefore owned the greater reach was more often on the defence than not.

After five minutes Dagmer was apparently finished with playing games. He suddenly jumped directly into Jon’s range, batting away the bastard sword of his opponent with his axe. Then he bashed Jon the buckler against his head.

Jon was backpedalling for a few steps and fell with one knee to the floor, sword still in hand. After he got himself together, he tried to reorient himself. He looked up, but didn’t see Dagmer, only a few watching guards watching the duel from the sides.

_Behind me!_

Jon didn’t hear the man, but he just _knew_ that Dagmer was standing behind him, a bit to Jon’s left, estimated two steps, and was coming with nearer fast.

He quickly leaped to his right. A blink later a heavy sound originated from his previous position. Jon turned around and saw Dagmer’s axe buried in the ground, held by both of the Ironborn’s hands. Jon spotted his opponent's buckler on the ground to the side.

_He actually wants to kill me!_

A one-handed strike would have been enough to potentially fatally wound him. It seemed like Dagmer didn’t want to take the risk of crippling his liege who could justly execute him for attempted murder and treason.

 _This fucking cunt!_ Jon was mad now. He couldn’t leave something like this unanswered.

He stopped thinking and went on the offense. Dagmer’s battle axe couldn’t keep up with his faster swung two-handed sword. A long cut appeared on the Ironborn's upper right arm.

Before Jon could cut him down however, his opponent suddenly pulled back and lowered his axe.

“I give, I give!” Dagmer spoke loudly for all to hear.

Jon was able to hold himself from charging the old man and stopped, sword still ready to strike.

“You sure got some power there… lad,” Dagmer called while panting heavily.

Jon realized by then that his heart was racing, and he himself was almost completely out of breath. His battle rush ended, the sword in his right hand dropped down to his side.

“I didn’t think until now that you had it in you! I thought you were just some green boy favoured by that whoremonger king, but you have the spirit, lad. The spirit to be a great warrior, like all true Ironborn!”

Hearing his adversary’s praise Jon was forced to play nice himself, even though he didn’t feel like it, he was mostly tired.

“A good match,” Jon replied politely with a friendly tone. “I can’t wait to see you in action against some wildlings.”

“Ha! I won’t miss that fun, I tell you.” Dagmer laughed. “Going to be bloody cold up there but battle will keep us warrioirs warm!”

* * *

On the day before their departure, two months in his married life Jon received a letter from King’s Landing, the red wax seal depicting a hand. It was the sign of the Hand of the King obviously, the message was from Father.

_Jon,_

_I just reached King’s Landing with the King and hope this letter reaches you in a good mood. The Ironborn are notoriously troublesome and it would be great if they don’t make you too much problems and follow your orders as much as one can reasonably expect._

_First, I want you to congratulate yourself for your wedding. I am saddened that neither me nor your siblings could attend. I am looking forward to meeting Asha one day myself again under much nicer circumstances than last time. I wish that you both understand each other well. Just remember that I myself had to abruptly marry Catelyn because my older brother Brandon died. I didn’t know her at all. Despite our cultural differences we grew to really love each other over the years, and it is not impossible that you two shall be blessed to recieve the same fate as us._

_I also received a message about your plans with the Lords of the North, the Westerlands and the Reach. I am proud of the active way you have decided upon and approve your dealings as both your Father and Hand of the Kings. Just try to stay humble and don't overreach._

_The Queen on the other side has voiced her disapproval about you and your actions rather loudly. I was able to keep her from taking any action though. Do not expect any problems from the Lannisters for now._

_Catelyn has visited me in King’s Landing and told me that a catspaw tried to kill Bran in Winterfell. Thankfully, Summer was able to stop the man. Bran has awoken by now as well. Maester Luwin says that he may never walk again unfortunately. I have acquired information from several sources that blame the Lannisters for both Bran’s fall and the catspaw._

_Please beware of the Lannisters._

_Your Father,_

_Eddard Stark,_

_Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King_

Jon didn’t know how to deal with the warning about the Lannisters. He himself couldn’t really do something against them that wouldn’t have a significant risk of backfiring.

He doubted that Lord Tywin Lannister had a reason to work against him too, for he had seemingly approved of Jon’s new relationship with a part of his bannermen. At least he had not overruled his vassals’ decisions with a general rejection of Jon’s terms yet.

Jon also didn’t believe that Lord Tywin would do that in the future. Both Lannisport and the Iron Islands would benefit of heightened trade on the western coast of Westeros.

Regarding his marriage, Jon tried his best. Initially, after hearing with Ghost’s ears Asha loudly contemplating to depose of him after they were able to get an heir, he tried that avoid just that. He slept in a separate chamber and tried to keep his interaction with his wife minimal. Asha had called him out however after only several days on this behaviour. He agreed to be with her from then.

Later he realized that this even was the correct way. If Asha thought that they would never have an heir Jon’s role as her husband would be obsolete because she couldn’t continue the Greyjoy line. The logically conclusion would be to kill him without the murder being traceable back to her.

Jon had to do the opposite of running away. He needed to endear himself to Asha and make sure that Asha had to believe that Jon being alive as the Lord of the Iron Islands and her husband was better than any other alternative that she could reasonably expect.

Therefore Jon needed to primarily be a good husband. If he died it was likely that Asha would also have to wed his successor. Jon honestly enjoyed their nocturnal activities in the last weeks and from his partner’s reaction he did not perceive that she was displeased either.

Additionally, he had to be a good Lord for the Iron Islands while also giving Asha herself the feeling of being a significant part of _their_ rule. He continued to let her hold court and gave her a few organisational tasks. He also told her every evening what he did this day and how he planned to spend the next one. Asha tended to comment most of his past and future actions without Jon even asking for her opinion and he always listened. Asha was actually very smart and often helpful if a topic was part of a subject she was proficient in.


	14. Into the Gorge (Jon XII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The expedition arrives at its goal.

Their convoy departed from Blacktyde in the middle of the eighth month. It was led by Jon’s _Sea Wolf_ , Asha’s _Black Wind_ and Lord Baelor Blacktyde’s _Nightflyer_. Additionally, seven other longships tagged along.

Lord Baelor was the Lord of the island Blacktyde and head of House Blacktyde. His father, the former Lord Blacktyde, had died during Greyjoy's Rebellion. Afterwards Lord Baelor had spent eight years as a hostage in Oldtown. He had come back to the Iron Islands as a pious worshiper of the Faith of the Seven. Rebuilding the sept had apparently brought Jon in his good graces. Rodrik had mentioned that during his official conversion to the Faith Lord Baelor had even received his current name replacing his original one, Balon.

He was smooth-faced and handsome and wore a heavy cloak for the journey - just like everybody else - pinned together with a silver seven-pointed star at the front. He was one the leading and strongest members of the progressive faction in the Iron Islands. The former ward of the Hightowers was also one of the most controversial figures in the Ironborn nobility and almost universally hated by the Priests of the Drowned God for his openly displayed religion.

The young man in his thirties had told him before their departure that he believed the both of them were destined to lead the Iron Islands in a brighter future, out of the 'hellish abyss of sin' the Ironborn were apparently currently residing in. Jon appreciated that they had mutual interests, but Lord Baelor’s zealous character was a bit too much for him. It uncomfortably reminded Jon of Lady Stark and Septa Mordane.

The journey northwards was fortunately rather uneventful. It was a bit slower than planned for the wind blew about one of the almost two weeks against their direction, particularly slowing down the _Sea Wolf_ that didn’t have oars in contrast to all the other constituting ships of the convoy which were traditional Ironborn longships. They even got into a small storm though thankfully no harm was done. They never lost sight of the coast.

“The Stormgod is mad and working against our venture! This expedition is destined to bring the Ironborn great fortune,” their accompanying drowned man Urron yelled in the rain. Jon thought the priest was full of shit. If the wind would have aided them, the man would surely come to the same conclusion by reasoning that the Drowned God was supporting their voyage.

During the trip along the coast Jon tried to advance his warging skills. He had achieved to slip into Ghost’s body intentionally while awake a bit over two weeks ago and since then was trying his luck on other animals. His first choice were sea gulls. A bird’s perspective had amazing potential for the future. Not only could they be used to scout without any risk of discovery, he would also be able to spy with it. Jon assumed that there was a distance limitation until the warg would lose the connection but hadn’t reached it during experiments with Ghost on Pyke.

They made their second last stop at Bear Island. There they left all their ships behind except the _Black Wind_ , the _Nightflyer_ and Dagmer Cleftjaw’s _Foamdrinker_. The vast majority of crewmembers and resources were transferred on those three vessels. A handful man remained on Bear Island, mainly the nonironborn crew of the _Sea Wolf_. They were supposed to guard the ships and coming goods and prepare the warehouses and harbour to function as the needed transshipment point. Short trips for food to the near Deepwood Motte across the Bay of Ice were also part of their tasks.

Two days later the three ships finally reached the mouth of the Milkwater. It was noticeably colder here than the Iron Islands and many men already started to complain. The mouth of the river quickly tightened while the shore rose and became higher and higher cliffs turning the surrounding land into a tight valley and then into a wide, deep canyon, named 'the Gorge'.

The respective captains gave the command to pull in the sail. The ships, the _Foamdrinker_ with its high, carved prow and a cramped aft cabin in front, creeped the stream upwards. Jon, at the front of Dagmer’s ship soon saw that not taking _Sea Wolf_ with them had been the correct decision. The oars were desperately needed to navigate the waters without ramming the dark grey rock cliffs which went almost vertically upwards.

The Lord of the Iron Islands was even ready to row himself but there more than enough men onboard the _Foamdrinker_ to replace the tired oarsmen. He was the only one who had actually been at their destination before, so he wanted to stay next to Dagmer who yelled the commands how the oarsmen should behave.

It turned out to be completely unnecessary though for after around thirty kilometers they spotted a slim bridge of stone around eighty meters above them, spanning the two sides of the canyon, the Bridge of Skulls. One could even see Westwatch-by-the-Bridge in form of two stone towers next to the north-western end of the walkway.

“Slow down!” Dagmer yelled. A few hundred meters came the next order: “Left side, slower!”

The quay of Westwatch was made of dark grey stoneblocks and did not even extend more than seven meters into the Milkwater with a length of around thirty-five meters. It lacked traditional piers that went deeper into the approximately twenty-five meters wide river. On the opposite side two hundred meters flow upwards you could see docks on the southern shore, used by the Night’s Watch of the Shadow Tower. There were even two small black ships for patrolling the Gorge up and down visible there.

The landing happened fortunately smoothly. The three ships were barely able to fit lengthwise along the wharf. The _Foamdrinker_ and _Nightflyer_ only touched the dock less than five meters at the back and the front respectively, just enough so they could be towed to a capstan of stone and a stable bridge would be able to connect the vessels and the hard ground.

Jon, Asha and Dagmer summoned a dozen fighters to the start of the small path up the cliffside that was carved into the rock. Lord Baelor remained behind to organize the offloading.

Everybody had tightened their heavy fur mantles as they followed the slim path which was on average one and a half meters wide, at the smallest barely one. Ghost had already run upwards ignoring all obstacles. The front of the vanguard consisted of four men with steel shovels that scooped any snow, ice, dirt or rocks to the side, letting it fall into the canyon. Once there was an angry scream because an Ironborn who had been helping to unload the longships had gotten his head showered in white. Thankfully, the man had not been injured.

No other accidents had occured until they finally reached the top after a tiring ascent of over twenty minutes.

“We definitely need to contact the Night’s Watch to help us build a crane as soon as possible,” Jon said. He was still a bit breathless.

At the top two men were waiting. Both had dark hair with a shaggy beard, making them look a bit haggard. They were dressed in heavy black mantels which revealed their affliction.

“Are you the Ironborn that will take over this ruin?” the bigger one of them asked.

“We are,” Asha answered simply.

While the one who had talked didn’t immediately react the smaller one gaped at her, clearly shocked.

 _He didn’t expect a woman_ , Jon realized. _Maybe the first one he has seen in months…_

“Good, just beware of the wildlings. They are slipping past us more and more in the last months. Our watch post is on the other side of the bridge.” The bigger man pointed to the other side of the canyon. Jon could make out two lights at the other end of the archway, likely torches. They were located at the top of a wooden gate, six meters high at least, which guarded the Bridge of Skulls on the south-eastern side. The glow from behind the structure made Jon guess that they also had a campfire there.

“Well, good look with this ruin.” The bigger one said with a mocking grin. “You won’t be able to withstand these temperatures for more than a month, I tell ya. Haha!”

Afterwards the two black brothers turned around and vanished swiftly back over the bridge, probably to the warmth of their campfire.

The group then entered the abandoned keep and examined it.

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was built in a rough square of walls of stone with a length of forty meters each. At each corner had once been a guard tower. Two gates on opposite sides had guarded the passage between the Lands-beyond-the-Wall and the Seven Kingdoms.

The two towers that directly touched the cliffside were surprisingly still in a rather good condition, inhabitable with a small amount of patching up. The south-eastern gate was still connected to them by intact walls, but had collapsed itself. Only the lower halves of it remained, letting one half of the the Bridge of Skulls dangerously unprotected.

The rest of the keep was in a far worse state. The other two towers had collapsed some time ago apparently, one of them was nothing more than a rock pile, the same was true for most of the south-western and north-eastern walls. The structures of the north-western gate and wall were surprisingly still intact with only the wooden doors missing.

“Asha, take Dagmer and three other men and scout the surroundings for wildlings and game,” Jon ordered. “Don’t attack the wildlings if they seem peaceful. They might help us repairing the castle for some goods.”

Apparently, no one wanted to question his leadership right now which Jon found very assuring. This wasn't the time for strife. The men had received promises of great financial rewards of course, to make sure that they didn’t make any hot-blooded mistakes. “Better safe than sorry,” had Asha said about the matter.

Jon took the rest of the men to the nearby trees. They all had carried a woodcutter’s axe on their back.

“We need to cut down as many trees as possible. We need to fortify the keep until tonight.”

It was mid-afternoon currently, Jon estimated that they still had around four and a half hours left until it the sun vanished over the horizon.

They swiftly cut down several trees that Jon pointed out, common beech, chestnut, oak and ash primarily. They cut down smaller to medium sized trees, in the end amounting almost two dozen.

“Chop away all the branches first. Then let’s bring them into the middle of the courtyard.”

They received help by the men who had carried the most important goods up the path from the ships. The wares that they currently had no need for remained onboard.

They cut down a few more trees and sawed the trunks into pieces of three meters, some of the wider ones got bisected lengthwise. With them the group created a wooden wall on the south-western and north-eastern side of Westwatch, therefore fortifying the large courtyard completely. The stones that were still deemed usable by Roran, the head builder of the expedition, were all collected and put on an organized pile. They would try to rebuild the keep step-by-step over the next weeks.

Jon made a short trip over the bridge and was able to borrow a lightened torch from the Night’s Watch to get their own campfire going.

* * *

Asha and her companions came back with three dead deer, two shot cleanly and one mauled. Ghost wasn't with them and was probably exploring the wilderness which was supposed to be his true home. They had not encountered any wildlings.

Qarl the Fat made a great meal from the animals, served with soup and ale. The exhausting day ended rather merrily with a few drunks showing off their questionable musical talents. They were even joined by four black brothers who wanted to introduce themselves and enjoy the food. The commander of the Shadow Tower, Ser Denys Mallister, apparently wanted to talk to the leader of the Ironborn personally too. Jon told them that he would visit the Watch tomorrow. Asha would naturally replace him as the highest authority.

After the meal part of the group entered the prepared southern and eastern towers and tried to sleep on furs laid out on the ground. Some men had made the fireplaces usable so they wouldn’t freeze as much. The Ironborn weren’t used to the cold though they were more adapted to it than the people of the River- and Westerlands, mainly because of the freezing winds they had to endure on the open sea and the Islands themselves. Becaue there wasn't enough space some men had to sleep in tents or the ships down in the Gorge.

Jon and Asha shared a sleeping place. They cuddled together under the furs.

“I’m sooo cold,” his wife whined. “How about we fuck. It will keep your cock warm, I don’t want it to freeze up, still need it after all.”

“No,” Jon replied with a small laugh. “It would be too cruel to everyone else. You’re the only woman here, both in Westwatch and the Shadow Tower. I don’t want to point out how lonely they are going to be in the coming weeks.”

Asha smirked. “Hmm, it’s going to be interesting how some of them will manage.”

“Possibly not at all, I wouldn’t be surprised if there will be some new half-wildling, half-Ironborn babes born in the near future.”

Jon suddenly remembered the look of the smaller man of the Watch the they encountered first. “I just hope you don’t turn into the next Danny Flint," he said in a serious tone.

'Brave Danny Flint' was a sad and popular song written about a girl from House Flint who had dressed up as a boy to become a member of the Night's Watch. However, in the end her true identity had been discovered and the love-starved men of the now abandoned Nightfort had raped and murdered her. The risk for his wife was in Jon’s mind very real and not to be ignored. Men were erratic and dangerous when they were overwhelmed by lust.

 _There needs to be at least one reliable man to always be with her for safety_ , Jon decided.

Asha apparently knew the song as well because she hugged him tightly. “Don’t worry, these men are loyal. They won’t try anything,” she said resolutely. “And if some idiots get stupid ideas, I will gut them all myself.”


	15. First Contact (Jon XIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ironborn rebuild Westwatch and have their first wildling encounters.

_Map of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge at the beginning of the year 299 AC:_

* * *

The night was thankfully uneventful, the eight guards hadn’t noticed anything.

After breakfast Jon crossed the Bridge of Skulls to the post of the Night’s Watch. He left Asha in charge to oversee the further unloading and transportation up the path. Ghost had completely vanished, and Jon wasn’t able to warg into him without direct sight to call him back. He wasn’t very worried though for this was the direwolf’s true homeland and Jon had seen Ghost trotting through the forests with the animal’s own eyes during the night.

The Bridge of Skulls was five meters wide and spanned approximately thirty meters from one end to the other. It lacked a railing like the Wall and was made of the same grey stones Westwatch was built from. The construction was supported by two around four meters thick pillars that went all the way down into the Milkwater. Approximately every ten meters they were connected to each other by wide arches. Considering the water depth the pillars probably reached a hundred meters in total height. General consensus among the Maesters that studied the Wall and its forts was that the walkway hadn’t been erected by Jon’s mythical ancestor Brandon the Builder, but much later. Westwatch itself was quite possibly even the youngest of the nineteen castles on the Wall. Looking at two formerly rectangular broken boulders at the bottom of the Gorge below, the bridge had probably collapsed several times over the centuries and repeatedly rebuilt by the Watch.

Maron, the big black brother from the day before, greeted Jon and led him north-eastwards alongside the canyon. After only a few hundred meters they passed the docks used by the Shadow Tower. They lacked a path carved into the rock, instead there was a contraption built at the side of the Wall a cage to transport men and goods up and down, connected with ropes to a heavy counterweight. There was also a completely vertical ladder.

 _We need one of those desperately._ No one wanted to de- and ascend the small path down to their longships over and over again, but until they had an alternative it was necessary.

The western end of the Wall came closer and closer. Even though Jon had already been on top of the Wall and you could easily see it from Westwatch, the structure still amazed him everytime he tried to take it in. The Wall began directly next to the abyss where the Gorge was still nearly fifty meters deep and followed it for around ten kilometers. It went vertical up at its edge for at least one hundred meters, rising steadily upwards to the Shadow Tower in the north-east.

The Shadow Tower was one of the final three manned forts of the Night’s Watch. Two hundred men of the Watch were stationed there. The structure was made of black stone which gave it its name and reached a height of around one hundred and fifty meters at the flat top. It wasn’t standing free but was directly connected on the northern side with the Wall. At the top of the tower was an iron cage attached to a winch on the Wall, Jon knew. He had used it once before when he visited from Bear Island. The cage was used to ascend and descend the face of the Wall quickly and without using much energy. According to a brother of the Night’s Watch it could hold up to ten men

A wooden stair climbed its way up the Wall on the eastern side of the tower from the ground up, anchored on huge rough-hewn beams sunk deep into the ice and frozen in place. Back and forth it switched, clawing its way upward as crooked as a bolt of lightning. It was anchored by huge beams frozen into the Wall itself.

Jon and Maron entered the small courtyard which wasn’t much bigger than that of Westwatch. It was flanked by two small watchtowers but lacked any bigger buildings. Basically all the important facilities were located in the Shadow Tower itself. There were around a dozen men sparring on the grounds, but Maron led him through the open gate inside the actual keep. They entered a second smaller gate, located next to a stair upwards. The big hall opened itself up. It was gloomy, barely any light entered through the windows. The ceiling of the room was at least ten meters up the air giving it a grand, but also empty feeling. There were several benches and tables ordered neatly on the floor. Many men were taking in their early fast. Maron greeted a few and moved towards the table at the other side of the hall with Jon following him. This one was elevated for it stood on dais. In the middle of the table sat an older man. Jon recognized him as Ser Denys Mallister, the commander.

Ser Denys was old. He had passed at least sixty name days already and commanded the Shadow Tower for over thirty of them. He had blue-grey eyes and a long white beard. The man had lost almost all his hair and his face was deeply lined. His black Night's Watch cloak was clasped together with a silver eagle, the symbol of House Mallister.

“You are the new Lord of the Iron Islands and Westwatch, Jon Snow?” Ser Denys began the conersation.

Jon nodded. “Lord Jon Torren, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.”

The Starks were the greatest supporters of the Watch and had marched their troops to help the black brothers versus various Kings-beyond-the-Wall numerous times in the past. It couldn’t harm to point out Jon’s connection to them.

Ser Denys stood up slowly and asked him to follow him. The two left the hall and ascended a few stairs until they entered a bigger room. Jon noticed a bed next to the wall to his left side and a shelf, filled with ledgers to his right. The commander sat down behind a clean desk at the back of the room and gestured towards one of the wooden stools ahead of him on the other side on which Jon sat himself.

“I will be honest with you," Ser Denys spoke. "I don’t like the Ironmen. Too much bad blood was spilt between my House and them, recently too.”

During Balon’s Rebellion Rodrik Greyjoy, Asha’s oldest brother, had been slain by Lord Jason Mallister who was Ser Denys’ nephew during the attempted storming of Seagard, the seat of House Mallister.

 _Hopefully, this won’t bite us in the ass_ , Jon prayed silently

“I am a dutiful brother of the Night’s Watch now though and the Watch is neutral. However, this doesn’t change my opinion of your people. As much as I want, I can’t trust you with the guarding of the Bridge of Skulls,” Ser Denys declared firmly.

“We do not have a problem of letting your men help guard the walls. They can even sleep there overnight in the restored rooms. We would like to have the assistance of a few of your builders in particular."

This would help them both. The wooden post on the south-eastern end of the walkway was mostly invalidated by the Ironborn occupying Westwatch. On the other side the Night’s Watch would be enticed to help their rebuilding efforts. Jon desperately wanted a few builders of the Shadow Tower. They only had taken three experienced builders with them. Those planned to depart for Bear Island in only a few months after the castle was fortified enough.

“I won’t give up our post. I can’t trust your men and the point is strategically more useful than Westwatch. We only need to look at the bridge there instead of three walls. Additionally, we are stretched enough in manpower. That’s the reasons why Westwatch was given up after all.”

Jon felt disappointed after hearing the commanders answer. The support of the Shadow Tower was close to crucial for them.

Apparently, his emotions weren’t hidden to Ser Denys because he held up his open hand to prevent Jon from leaving. “I am willing nevertheless to help you with the builders, for a price of course.”

Then the negotiations began. In the end they decided that Jon would feed the guards of the post on the south of the bridge and all rangers that would make halt to pass through Westwatch. The Shadow Tower would send them ten builders that had to be given a warm place to sleep and enough food to work comfortably. The builders would help them to rebuild the two gates, walls and the northern tower that hadn’t completely collapsed. At first, they would help them build a functioning big lift to transport goods up and down the cliffside more easily. The price for the iron cage, the ropes and the winch that Ser Denys demanded was completely out of proportion to the production and construction costs, but both of them knew that Jon didn’t have another choice but to agree.

Ser Denys told him that the men would be sent in the afternoon. Jon was later able to meet the head builder, called Gracious Garron, at lunch. The friendly giant with a height of over two meters told him the hoist could be usable in approximately a week.

* * *

When he came back at early afternoon not much had occurred. Roran swore he had seen a face in the woods, but no one else had something significant to report.

Jon decided that he wanted to explore the fabled Lands-beyond-the-Wall himself. He told Asha to continue reinforcing the new walls with a walkway for patrolling and took four men with him

The group consisted of Dagmer Cleftjaw, a rather young, slim man with blond hair named Lenn Pyke who was approximately Jon’s age, the always serious Harren the Hunter and Borun Harlaw, the third and youngest son of Lord Boremund Harlaw of Harridan Hall, another cousin and vassal of Rodrik. Borun actually looked just like a younger version of the man currently in charge of the Iron Islands. Dagmer and Harren had already accompanied Asha on their scouting trip the day before.

Jon decided to go south-west and explore the Gorge. The Gorge had tightened into a canyon by Westwatch, but both cliffsides left the shores of the Milkwater around five kilometers before the Bridge of Skulls creating a deep, slim valley, filled with stones of all sizes, from gravel to giant rocks, that had been washed downstream over millennia, cut apart by the deep cold river water.

Jon knew that Wildlings tried to regularly bypass the Shadow Tower and the Wall by climbing down into the Gorge and following the river until the Bay of Sea where they could make a small boat trip over to the North proper. He hoped that they might meet such a raiding group, maybe they could be peaceful with them.

Jon spotted many different birds, a few deer discovered them and fled. There was much more life across the border of the Seven Kingdoms than the common man believed. To the north of them the white mountain range that was named the Frostfangs touched the clouds. Thankfully it hadn’t snowed since their arrival. The forest floor was littered with stones and covered with many trees and other plants.

“There!” Harren exclaimed while pointing further along the cliffside. The man in his late thirties was known to be one of the best bowmen on the Iron Islands, even though there weren’t a lot of them to begin with. It was almost ironic that Theon Greyjoy was such a good one as well.

Jon squinted his eyes and made out some dark shapes a few hundred meters away.

They silently moved forwards, a few meters away from the abyss to be partly hidden by the trees. Soon they could identify what Harren had spotted. It was a group of wildlings, Jon counted nine of them. They were bound together by rope. Five of them already stood on the top and were pulling up the remaining four climbing the rock face. Jon noticed that each person had at least one big bag or basket on their back. Apparently, they were just coming back from a raid.

“Let’s approach them while they can’t defend themselves," Jon gave his order. "They are occupied and surely exhausted.”

When the first wildling, a lanky man in grey furs, saw them and screamed, it was already too late. Dagmer, Lenn, Borun and Jon were not even ten meters away with their superior steel weapons bare in their hands. Harren remained a bit back with his bow.

“Surrender, cunts! You are outnumbered!” Lenn screamed in a pitched cry.

Despite situation Jon couldn’t help but question if the Ironborn could actually count. By now seven of the nine wildlings had reached the top.

The wildlings apparently weren’t very intimidated as much as they hoped and drawed their weapons. The lanky one already wanted to leap forwards but then stopped.

“Hey, you aren’t crows!”

Jon was confused how they could be mistaken for birds. After a few seconds he recognized that crows had to be a moniker for the men of the Night’s Watch.

“And they aren’t Free Folk either. Half of them look like fucking kneelers!” another man declared with a booming voice. The wildling had like the rest of them dark shaggy hair and was even bigger than Dagmer. He held a giant woodcutter’s axe of steel in his hand while wearing rusty iron mail and decorated leather gauntlets, coloured in red.

From the man’s erratic gestures Jon assumed that he himself was someone that looked like a 'fucking kneeler' and Jon was less than delighted over the obvious insult.

_This guy is apparently the leader. He’s the key._

“We don’t need to fight,” Jon declared. He lowered his bastard sword trying to calm the raiders.

“Shut up, you babe!” the big wildling boomed while glaring at him. “Men, look at their shiny weapons and clothes. We have double their numbers. Today is our lucky day! Att- argh…”

Harras had seemingly decided to even the wait for the inevitable battle and shot the large man into the throat. He fell front first onto the ground and stopped moving.

“Aaaah!” Dagmer leaped forward first and moved towards the lanky raider. The Ironborn lifted his big axe over his shoulder and swung it down. His surprised opponent tried to parry the strike with his dark ironwood spear, but the sharp steel blade went right through it and entered the wildling’s chest. Bones cracked and blood splashed into the air. He died instantly with one last gasp.

Jon was swiftly approached by two wildlings and had to focus on only them. They were approximately Jon’s height, dressed in dark fur cloaks and roughly worn tunics. In their right hands they both held axes of iron and in their left crude round shields of skin stretched over wood. They most characteristic difference between them was that one had tousled long dark brown hair and a beard while the other was bald, almost completely clean shaven.

They flanked him both forcing Jon to take two steps backwards. Both started hacking at him, but Jon managed to dodge many of their strokes. The wildlings’ fighting style lacked any reasonable technique and planned cooperation.

Jon soon took the initiative. He parried the axe of the bearded man to his left and forced it away. A quick long step brought him into the range of the bald wildling while dodging his weapon. He stabbed at his chest, but his opponent barely managed to get his shield up to block.

Jon turned around, feeling a familiar impulse again that showed him where his opponent was, just in time for the other man was trying to split his head with his own weapon. A quick twirl from Jon opened the overextended wildling’s throat, spotting Jon’s clothes in dark red.

The slashes of his remaining enemy were easily blocked and evaded. A swift counter first took the man’s axe hand, a second stroke his hairless head.

Afterwards Jon looked around. Dagmer was surrounded by three corpses and had a terrifying grin on his face. Borun seemed alright too and just finished of his second adversary. The other one behind him had an arrow in the chest, surely Harren’s. Jon was a bit shocked when the wildling’s death scream turned out to be decisively female. The young Lenn had also killed his one opponent, although he was now holding his right arm with his left. A quick look assured him that Harren was alright too. No wildlings were seemingly left alive.

Jon ran to Lenn and looked at the wound. A rather deep cut on the outer side on his underarm let out a lot of blood. He rashly ripped a cloth stripe off the cause’s tunic and made a makeshift bandage.

Dagmer had observed his actions. “Looks worse than it is, boy!” he said to Lenn with a toothy smile. “Your first battle scar, no? The girls will love it. Haha!”

Borun was investigating the baskets and bags of the wildlings. The raiders had left them on the floor before the confrontation.

“Grain, finished bread and vegetables, here’s some meat, there are some farming tools,” he summarized while pointing to the different goods. “Probably plundered a farm or two.”

_We could surely find use for all of it._

Jon didn’t enjoy taking advantage of the tragic fate of a few innocent - and possibly dead - peasants, but there wasn’t a better alternative available.

“Let’s take it all with us," he ordered. "Everything else would be a waste.”

They all carried as much as he could apart from Lenn. The wound at least didn’t get worse, but it still needed to be treated as fast as possible, which was the reason they marched in a quick pace back to Westwatch.

On the way Jon made himself accusations about what he had done wrong.

_We shouldn’t have gone in ready for battle, our attitude had to provoke them. And I should have been the one in charge immediately._

After beating himself mentally up for a large part of the way he realized however that no matter their behaviour the greed of the raid leader probably would have led to a fight anyway. Five people weren’t enough for a safe approach of almost the doubled number of unknown wildlings.

When they reached Westwatch in the evening Lenn was already noticeably exhausted.

“Roben!” Dagmer yelled in the courtyard.

Roben was their best medical practitioner though he had never studied or apprenticed under an actual professional. The man was in his forties and was slowly balding. He saw Lenn and gestured them to the fire. He cleaned the wound with ale from a skin that hang in his belt and cauterized it with a hot sword that he had held into the campfire.

Afterwards Roben gave Jon his medical advice: “After one week he should be completely fine again. Just put him on guard duty for the next month.”

Jon felt extremely relieved. He didn’t want to lose a man on the first scouting trip under his command in his entire life.

* * *

While taking in their evening meal in form of deer soup alone in their room, Asha and Jon talked about what they had done during the day.

The Ironborn had managed to double the strength of the wood wall on the south-western and north-eastern side. Asha had ignored Jon’s orders and decided against building a walkway.

“Don’t we want to replace the wood with stone anyway? There’s no point with complicated constructions then,” Asha explained her reasoning.

Instead she had focused on building a few more roofs that extended from the wooden walls into the inner courtyard to protect their resources against wind and weather.

“Our weapons and tools will rust if it rains or snows. Tomorrow we will just have to upgrade the roofs and we have our first huts. I also attached a railing along the path down to the quay. That thing isn’t safe.”

“Alright. In one week the Brothers will give us a cage lift to use, although it was expensive. Ser Denys Mallister isn’t a friend of your people.”

“Doesn’t matter. Also, you have to say _our_ people from now on, aye?” Asha told him with a smirk on her face.

Jon did not voice his disagreement. In truth he wasn’t an Ironborn after all, despite being their Lord. He was a Northman and proud of it.

“I think we shouldn’t focus too much on exploration," he said instead. "I assume the wildlings will come themselves soon out of curiosity. Maron told me that they have a good relationship with a few clans.”

From her expression Asha wasn't convinced, but she also didn’t explicitly disagree. Jon interpreted it as her consenting.

* * *

Gracious Garron and his builders arrived at noon on the next day to examine the state of Westwatch together with Jon and Roran.

In the morning Jon had helped installing walls around the roofs, creating several huts for storage and living. Additionally, the Ironborn had almost completely deconstructed the collapsed guard tower on the west.

The big head of the builders summarized his thoughts to Jon. “The problem is the material. We can reuse a lot of the stone blocks that are still in a good condition, but it's just enough to restore the north-eastern wall. We could also start repairing the northern tower in its current height. The southern and eastern towers are steady, I would deem renewing them secondary.”

“And where can we get stone?” Jon asked. “From you?”

Garron shook his head. “No, we don’t have enough stone either currently, I should know it. We builders repair the Wall with ice mostly. Almost all our newer constructions are made from wood.”

“Should we let the walls then be wooden then?”

“It’s a possibility, but I wouldn’t advise it for too long. The wildings are likely going to burn them down to sack the castle.”

Jon was perplexed how he should solve the problem.

“You could buy the stone from one of the Northern Lords with your ships, probably the easiest way.” Garron proposed. “The alternative would be to obtain it from the Gorge. It’s a natural quarry after all. Not the greatest quality but good enough for this.”

Jon hadn’t thought of the bare rock directly next to them. Now it seemed too obvious.

“Good, we will do that then,” he decided. “But we can only start after the hoist is functioning.”

“I will tell my men that if they work faster, they can drink some of your ale you brought with you,” the smiling Garron spoke.

That made Jon laugh. “Do that!”

* * *

Alcohol proved itself to be a truly great motivator. The iron cage was attached only four day later and worked without problems.

Until then, the other builders of the Watch had helped them to repair both gates and erected a new north-eastern wall. They had not replaced the wooden one but raised the one of stone in a large half circle outward, creating a second section of the castle. It was supposed to house a part of the population safe from wildling ambushes. Additionally, they started the work on the northern guard tower. Between the eastern tower and the south-eastern gate, connected to the Bridge of Skulls, they planned the building of a bigger hall, with the quarters of the ruler of the keep on top of it. The project would be important for the coming winter but could wait for now.

The Night’s Watch had given them the appropriate tools and instructions to obtain the desperately needed stones from the Gorge as well. The lift instantly proved itself as crucial.

Over the next month, they were also able to build a second south-western wall from stone, creating a second semi-circular residential district. They also completely reconstructed the northern tower. It ended up being completely rectangular with the upper two floors made from wood. The same was planned for the western corner of the castle.

A few Northmen of the Watch had even showed Jon the nearest heart tree to pray. It reminded Jon of the last one he had seen, in the Godswood of his home. He tried to imagine how his family was faring currently, both in Winterfell and King’s Landing.

Ghost had visited once and promptly disappeared again. Jon believed that the direwolf wanted to make sure that his human partner was in a good state.

Not everything worked out fluently though.

One man had broken his foot because he had dropped a heavy stone block on it. He was transferred to the Shadow Tower into the care of Maester Mullin. Jon had been told the Maester was more of a fighter than a learned man, but he was the best healer in vicinity.

Furthermore there had been several small skirmishes with the wildlings.

They had lost two man in ambushes, one by an arrow to the chest, the other by an axe to the head. The corpses had been robbed forcing Jon to the realization that he had undervalued the attractiveness of their equipment, even after his own encounter with the greed of the wildlings. Afterwards Jon ordered all Ironborn to remain close to Westwatch to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

The wildlings apparently didn’t even come the idea into their minds that they could peacefully receive goods from them. Jon assumed that the Night’s Watch over centuries was responsible. Jon had proposed to take a wounded wildling hostage, give him medical attention, food and cloths and send him back to his clansmen but Asha had discarded the plan. The tribesmen of the victim would likely notice that the corpse of one of their comrades was missing and quite possibly attempt to rescue their comrade with a direct attack on Westwatch instead of opening negotiations.

A third man had been mauled to death by a bear. Jon had developed a healthy dislike of bear meat during his fostering with the Mormonts, but the Ironborn, primarily Dagmer, apparently lacked a functioning sense of taste because they savoured it.

Lord Baelor had made a first resupply trip to Bear Island with his _Nightflyer_ taking with him quite a bit of wood as a test run. He came back with food and a few new men that came from the Iron Islands. He also brought with him the most desperately needed goods: nails. They had severely miscalculated their demand for the stuff, used in almost all their woodwork. Apparently, the warehouse area on Bear Island was finished with the support of the Mormonts. Lord Baelor had even sent a raven with a status update from him and Jon for Rodrik to Harlaw. The raven between Ten Towers and Bear Island had been acquired and frequently used during Jon’s fostering in the past.

The Ironborn had also decided to go through with the _incredibly stupid_ idea to spar on the Bridge of Skulls, a five meters wide walkway without a railing on either side with sporadic gusts of wind where falling meant certain death. Dagmer said that the danger could make one’s blood pump like a real battle. Jon’s explicit ban of the practice had been actively ignored, even by Asha who even loudly declared for everyone to hear that he was 'too soft and cowardly'. Not only was it a very embarrassing affair for him, getting publicly insulted by his wife, Jon also thought it was only a matter of time until the first victim plummeted down the eighty meters to the water surface.

Jon had in the end even participated several times in spars on the bridge against his own rationality. He had received the same feeling – Jon dubbed it 'the Feeling' – from his spar with Dagmer in Pyke in the fight versus the two raiders on the scouting mission. Since then he had tried to search and find for the Feeling continually during spars and had at some point managed to conclude that it only appeared strongly in his mind when he felt himself in danger. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the bridge as a suicidal sparring place had helped him out here. By now he could feel the signatures of other humans in a radius of barely five meters around him when he concentrated himself, not doing anything else except searching for a sort of inner peace. It was basically a self-developed form of magical meditation. Jon was sure it was real and magical, and probably connected with his warging skills. Over the days the radius was even slowly increasing with no limit currently insight.

* * *

After forty days of their stay in Westwatch, they were finally approached by a group of wildlings.

Jon had been told that the older two had lifted their hands while moving towards the current logging area, around five hundred meters removed from Westwatch, to show that they meant no harm. Asha had been close and quickly informed. She had led the wildlings into the keep.

Jon had seen their reactions to the keep himself for he had been working on the third floor of the final guard tower. All four couldn’t stop gaping looking around, clearly amazed.

_There are no bigger fortified keeps of stone beyond the Wall. Must be the culture shock._

The man and woman looked both rather haggard and were trailed by two of their children, approximately five and ten name days old. The woman and the older child had long black, shaggy hair, the other two had a brown tone. All were dressed in grey, roughly woven clothes which were now nothing more than rags. The woman had a bundle in her arms, obviously a babe. That it was a family was immediately obvious.

Jon moved down to them.

“And who are you?” he asked politely to the elder couple.

The man and woman looked at him silently, the smaller of the two children, both were girls, tried to hide behind her mother. Jon followed her fearful look and spotted Dagmer strolling towards them with his massive battle axe leaned on his shoulder.

 _His jaw does make him look terrifying_ , Jon concluded after he mustered the veteran.

“This is Lareta and Rodgar,” Asha introduced the new arrivals, gesturing to the man and the woman who had apparently already spoken with her. “The older girl is Lyra; the younger is named Reta.”

“And the babe?” Jon smiled at the children and tried to appear as friendly as he possible could. He had several younger siblings, so he considered himself to be rather experienced with children.

“No name yet,” the woman, Lareta, mumbled softly. “Too young. Name gives bad luck.”

There was a similar custom practiced by some smallfolk in the North during Winter when food was scarce, Jon had heard. The young children were so likely to die that they weren’t named to keep the pain of their deaths as small as possible.

“I am sure he will receive one soon. You are safe here if you want to stay.”

Rodgar answered after a few seconds with wide eyes: “We… can stay?”

“Of course, you can,” Jon replied. “There has to be a good reason you came to us. Did you not seek shelter?”

“We are fisherfolk, last of our tribe. Everyone else is gone. That’s why we came to here. Saw your village and saw you weren’t crows,” Rodgar explained.

“We are Ironborn, from far away,” Asha said proudly. “If you want to stay here that’s alright, take one of the huts over there.” She pointed at the new wooden gate connecting the central yard to the south-western district, which was deeemed to be used for the poorer smallfolk.

The family were apparently overwhelmed because they didn’t answer. The woman however nodded, clutching her child tighter to her breast.

Jon stretched out his right hand to the bigger girl, Lyra. “Let’s go to your new home.”

Lyra hesitated for a while, clearly questioning if she could trust him and finally accepted the offer, clutching Jon’s fingers tightly.

They moved through the castle grounds and Jon was for the first time thankful that the training grounds had been partly moved away. He didn’t want to scare the family anymore. The Ironborn tended to be rather passionate.

Jon opened one of the huts he was relatively sure was unused and let the family explore their new home for themselves. He swiftly made a trip and came back with bread and leftover soup from the day before that he placed on the ground. The castle still lacked a lot of furniture and he vowed to himself to try to solve the problem soon.

The four wildlings apparently didn’t care about tables because they ate everything he brought about as fast as Ghost when he was hungry, with similar manners too, while frequently thanking Jon for his great hospitality. The family apparently hadn’t eaten well for some time now.

Afterwards they told Jon that they came from the river and lived near a great ruin called the Fist of the First Men which Jon remembered from the maps he had sighted. The rest of their tribe had decided to join the new King-beyond-the-Wall deep in the Frostfangs. Because of Lareta’s pregnancy she hadn’t been able to travel, and the family had vowed to their tribe that they would join them later. Unfortunately, their almost empty village was later plundered by another clan that wanted to use the opportunity to enrich themselves and the four of them had fled in a small boat downstream. The babe had been born on their way. They had decided to follow the river until they met someone that could give them desperate aid in form of shelter and food. In the end their desperation had even overcome their fear of “the crows” and led them to Westwatch.

Jon had proposed that the family could fish down in the Gorge from now on to make their living and trade it for what they needed with the Ironborn in the castle. If they needed something desperately, they should either come to him or Asha. Jon would also ask someone skilled to build a small fishing boat.

Rodgar accepted his offer enthusiastically while his wife cried tears of joy.

* * *

In the evening Asha entered their new private room. It was located on the second floor of the eastern tower. The room was furnished with only one desk with four simple chairs to the right side and a sleeping place consisting of several furs to the left directly next to the fireplace. Including the night before they had always shared their space with someone else.

Jon was sitting behind the desk doing the minimal paperwork that was necessary. He had elevated two men into the position of steward, Balon the Blue for the woodworking area and processing and Borun Harlaw for the keep itself. They were supposed to keep track of all the goods being produced, used and moved. He didn’t have much choice for the positions, just half a dozen Ironborn of their group were even literate, which was already a shockingly high amount.

“So, it’s nice and all to help that family, but they won’t help us,” Asha spoke up in a serious tone. “We need a bigger tribe to do the work for us.”

“I know that too, but it’s a start. Also…”

“Also what?” she looked at him sharply while moving towards their furs. She was starting to take of her high boots.

“I am rather sure the wildlings are watching us the entire time. The wildlings worship their nature. I can’t believe they will just ignore us if we continue to cut down the woods on the land they live off since eight thousand years…” Jon trailed off. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but he was sure that they were being continually watched. Several times over last few days during his short-timed meditation sessions in the logging area he had received the Feeling, dull and in the background from the depths of the forest. He hadn’t been able to discern any humans between the trees though.

“Well, we had some skirmishes and several of our opponents escaped. They definitely know we are here. It’s certainly a good sign that they haven’t attacked us directly yet. It could mean they may want something from us too.”

Jon hadn’t thought of that angle and was impressed by his wife's intelligence for another time. He was rather happy that she came with him northwards and proved to be so competent.

“We need the wildlings as workers as fast as possible,” Jon said. “Our men are some of the more tolerant but most of them aren’t meant to be craftsman and woodcutters. They only endure it because they believe this will strengthen the Iron Islands and their acceptable pay.”

“Well... If they are really watching us, they will probably approach us after they see how well we treat their kin.”

He certainly hoped so and moved to finish his work for the day.

"Jon, I am cold.”

He looked back up from the ledger ahead of him to the complainer. Asha was completely nude and slowly stalking towards him with her usual smirk on. While he had seen her bare several times before he was still a bit shy about these things. He lacked his wife’s natural cockiness.

She sat herself sideways in his lap, leaned her chest against his and whispered in his ears: “Maybe, my husband could warm me…”


	16. The Southern Hornfoots (Jon XIV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball finally starts rolling.

At the beginning of the eleventh month of the year a wildling woman approached Westwatch and asked to meet the leader of its new inhabitants.

Jon and Asha received her in their personal room which also functioned as their solar.

The dark-haired woman looked to be in her fifties, though with the conditions of living beyond the Wall it was hard to tell how old she really was. The wildling wasn’t dressed unusual from what Jon had seen so far. Her clothes mainly consisted of grey furs. Standing out was that she wore nothing on her feet. The bare soles were completely black. She wore a long wooden spear almost bigger than herself on the back.

“Are you two the kneeler lords here?” the woman asked, already sitting on one of the stools without prompted by anyone to do so. She didn’t look at the two of them for long, looking curiously at some papers on the desk Jon and Asha sat on the other side of. Lenn came through the door and put a teller with warm mushroom soup and two handfuls of common bread down before the wildling. Those were the leftovers from lunch, nothing special. Jon meanwhile took a goblet from the new shelf behind him, filled it with wine and deposited it lightly next to the meal.

The guest right was a sacred law of hospitality, especially in the North. Maron had told him that the wildlings took is as serious which didn’t surprise Jon. The custom went back milennia, it probably predated even the Wall. When a guest, be he commonborn or noble, ate and drank what was freely given to him by the host under his roof, guest right was invoked.

The fur clad woman gave Lenn and Jon a short look, then she took up the bread. The first bite was cautious. She chewed for a while, swallowed and then opened her mouth. Three haps and not even ten seconds later the first handful of bread had vanished. Second followed shortly after.

“Is it good?” Asha was smirking.

“Hm-hmm!"

The only reason Jon didn’t get sick from the wildling basically _destroying_ the food was that he had seen similar scenes from many of the Ironborn.

The woman had drunk down the soup swiftly and now guzzled down all the wine at once. She made a face. “Bah! Too sweet!”

After a few seconds of silence Jon decided to make the first move. “My name is Lord Jon Torren.” He gestured to his neighbour. “And this is my wife, Lady Asha Greyjoy.”

The woman cocked her head to one side while staring into Jon’s eyes. “Morra's my name, kneeler.”

“And why have you visited Westwatch?” After seeing her confused expression he elaborated: “This castle is called Westwatch-by-the-Bridge.”

“I saw the bridge, very big!” Morra looked proud as if she considered it as some sort accomplishment. "I was sent here because we saw you taking in some Free Folk-”

“We?” Asha interjected.

“My tribe, the Hornfoots.”

Jon almost laughed out loud in glee. Jon had never heard of the Hornfoots, but he didn’t know much of how the wildlings were organized in general. Information was sparse and unreliable. That Morra called them a tribe meant it should be made of a sizable population.

_This is exactly what we need!_

In the last days Asha had voiced doubts about the plan to use wildlings as worker.

“We observed you for some time now,” Morra continued to explain. “You built this Westwatch so quickly, very impressive. You aren’t crows too.”

Jon couldn’t help himself but throw a triumphant look in Asha’s direction.

_I fucking told you so!_

Feeling a kick to his shin he concluded that she had understood the message he had wanted to convey.

Morra’s smile had faltered meanwhile, and she glowered at them. “You are stealing the forest!” she accused.

“Is it your forest?" Jon replied "I thought that nobody owned it, neither your people nor we kneelers. Therefore we can do with it what we want, no?”

Morra opened her mouth to reply but didn’t say anything. She obviously was more on the dimmer side of the spectrum. Jon wondered why her tribe had decided to send her as their representative.

 _They mistrust us._ S _he’s probably considered as an acceptable loss._

“We… ehhh… also need part of the forest. So, don’t take all of it away, okay?!”

“Don’t worry,” Asha tried to assure her. “There are so many trees, how could we carry them all home?”

That seemed to do the trick.

“So, what is your goal here. Did you just want to make sure that we don’t take all the trees?” his wife questioned. There was no mocking undertone in her voice to Jon’s surprise.

 _She seems to be good at talking to unmature_ _people. She would be a good mother._

“Well, we saw how you gave that family food and shelter when they needed it, sooo…” Morra paused and fidgeted a bit with her hands. “Wewantedyoutodothesameplease… Lordlady kneelers.”

Jon smiled at the nervous woman. “Sure, how many people are you.”

Morra gasped again. After a while she finally opened her mouth again. “We are six clans… One clan has about thirty people? So, four hundred, Lord Kneeler.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, all the Hornfoots south of the Slim Pass,” the wildling explained. “Is it too many?” She sounded almost fearful.

“No,” Jon swiftly replied. “It’s not, but if you want to live with us, we have conditions.”

_This is it._

“Yes, yes.” Morra nodded enthusiastically.

“Our goal is to fell trees and cut them down, so we can bring the timber away to rebuild our large homeland. It got destroyed in a horrible war…”

Jon didn’t believe there was anything wrong in abusing the wildling’s missing knowledge of the world south of the Wall. He wasn’t even lying, technically.

“Ah, so you want us to help you with that!”

“Exactly, the more wood you get for us the better. As long as you do a good job you can live behind our walls and eat our food, to a certain extent only of course. I expect you to hunt for yourself.”

“Okay, we will do…” Morra stopped for a moment before going on. “Eh, I meant I will tell your offer my kin, oh Lord kneeler… and Lady kneeler.”

* * *

The Hornfoots arrived in the evening, around three hundred wildlings. Jon already learnt in the first meeting with the gruff but thankful Chieftain Orad, that they were 'the Free Folk' because they lived without true Lords unlike the people living on the other side of the Wall, the 'kneelers' and 'southerners'. It was a mixture of men and women of every age, from freshly born babes to the eldest of the elders.

Orad was discernible as a seasoned warrior on first glance. He had the aura of a natural leader with a booming voice and a stature that reminded Jon of the Greatjon. The man wore brown leather clothes of substantial quality and a big white cloak made from the fur of a snow bear. Orad had a happy expression on his face when he met Jon and Asha before the north-western gate. Lenn gave him a symbolical handful of bread and a goblet of the hardest ale they had. Jon had learnt from Morra that the latter would probably be better received than expensive wine.

His story was an interesting one: Apparently the Hornfoots had been in a war with the Nightrunners before the new King-beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder negotiated a peace between them. The Nightrunners had joined his grand host that was preparing to march on the Wall. The northern Hornfoots had joined him too. Orad however had heard from one of his scouts of the new men who had been rebuilding the ruin by 'the Bridge'. Curious, he had decided to observe them for a while, at first with the goal to raid them. After they had seen the Free Folk family of five being allowed to live in the new castle, Orad had changed the plan.

Asha had already prepared everything for the clans. They had quickly erected a few more simple sheds over the day. Qarl the Fat had also recruited a few extra helpers to create enough soup to feed everyone. The head cook had even opened the storage to get the tastier ingredients. First impressions were everything here.

* * *

After a rather wild coupling, Jon and Asha discussed their new situation. Jon had originally wanted to do it before, but his great mood had seemed to fuel his lust. Asha had hinted that she wanted him to be more dominant in bed. It actually turned out that they both really liked it.

Now they were laying next to each other with Jon's seed still inside his spouse.

Jon had been very worried about the culture clash between Ironborn and Free Folk. He had believed that hate of wildlings was one of the uniting factors of all the people in the Seven Kingdoms. It turned out that he was wrong. There were a few misunderstandings and fights, but the day ended smoothly. Jon had always guessed it would be a more gradual process.

“I didn’t expect this. That Ironborn and Free Folk understand each other so well.” He felt foolish and disappointed in himself. It turned out he was still far away from understanding the people he ruled.

“Well...” Asha was stroking his bare chest with her fingers. “Most of us don’t consider themselves threatened by them. It’s not like they have the means to reach the Islands. It's different for the Noth. I doubt the people far in the south of the continent think much different. You could talk with a Dornish.”

Jon accepted her explanation, it seemed reasonable.

 _I need to look more on the differences and core characteristics between cultures from now on_ , Jon resolved silently. _It would surely help me in the future whenever I deal with people from all over Westeros and beyond._

“Yeah, when I was younger, I thought of the Ironborn as very similar to the Free Folk, actually.” Jon explained further after a questioning gaze of his wife. “Both seemed to be mindless barbarians, only one was stuck behind a giant ice wall and the other one was stuck on a few barren rocks, at least they had ships to terrorize the coasts.”

Asha laughed. Apparently, she found his anecdote amusing. Then she punched him hard into the stomach. She was doing that more and more often lately.

“Ouch!”

“Serves, you right. Have a bit more respect for our people” She smirked at him. Jon had started to enjoy this characteristic expression of her, it generally meant that she was comfortable. “You do know that our children will be half-Ironborn, no?”

“I…eh…” Jon didn’t know what to answer to that.

“By the way, my moon tea is all gone from today onwards.”

He didn’t know what to reply. Jon hadn’t even known that she took it. He always assumed that the both of them were trying to get an heir as soon as possible. Enjoying the act and releasing their pent-up stress always seemed more like great side effects which helped to distract from the fact that they wouldn’t do it if offspring wasn’t expected of them.

'A noble marriage that does not produce a lasting heir is a useless marriage.' Those were Jon’s thoughts which were shared by the entire realm. He could not accept failure in such a central part of life.

The fact that Asha had singlehandedly decided to postpone any chance on conception without informing him felt like a small betrayal. Since he had understood why Lady Stark treated him different from his siblings, he always dreamt of having children and raising them together with his wife. Jon had caught Asha on their wedding night telling Tris how crucial it was for her to birth an heir and that she was planning or at least was considering to dispose of him when he wasn’t 'needed' anymore. Jon had however started to doubt by now that Asha would try it as soon as she saw a chance. The woman had shown a surprising amount of patience and intelligence over the last months. Children were prone to an early death, especially in House Greyjoy.

“Why?” he asked, trying to hide his strong emotions.

_I don't want to look like a weak-willed fool to her._

“Oh, I just don’t know where to find the herbs around here,” she explained casually. “I doubt the Night’s Watch has them. Heh!”

“Hm.”

“I could maybe ask some spearwives for help,” Asha added. "I don’t trust them that much yet though.”

 _If I tell her to not take moon tea or its Free Folk equivalent, I would only achieve the_ _contrary_ , Jon considered. _I can’t force her to carry out a child, she would oppose me only out of spite, and I want her to be a happy mother._

Jon concluded that he didn’t have any other option but to let his wife do what she wanted and stayed silent until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The Hornfoots were given their respective tasks in the late morning. Many of them seemed enthusiastic to earn further meals.

Jon had noticed that many of his own men looked rather happy too. A certain section of their new arrivals seemed to be the cause.

Of the three hundred people just about two thirds were effectively usable, everyone else tended to be too weak, either because of age or sickness.

The leading group of Westwatch, Jon, Asha, Lord Baelor and Dagmer unanimously decided to organize them into groups most appropriate for their individual abilities. The more specialised their respective occupations were defined the lower should the likelihood of mistakes be and the higher the efficiency. Until now the Ironborn hadn’t been very organized in their endeavours themselves, everyone roughly knew what he could and liked to do the most and did just that.

Approximately a dozen men and women became 'scouts'. Their qualifications were their sharp eyes which was why most scouts used the bow and seemingly above average intellect - for their tribe - mainly reasoned from their patterns of speech. They were instructed by the most knowledgeable Ironborn in terms of wood and tree types. Their job was it to venture deeper into the woods and find the best trees for timber. If they found some good specimen, they should mark them and remember the location to later lead the next force of workers there. Furthermore, they would also hunt to satisfy the heightened hunger of the population of Westwatch.

Fifty of the strongest Hornfoots were given woodcutter’s axes from steel. Jon was a bit anxious about some of the more hot-blooded men using the tools to fight instead, so he made sure to clearly voice that such actions were forbidden under harsh penalties. They were the core of the newly created group of the 'cutters'. Their job was simply to cut down the marked trees, as clean and safe as possible.

Afterwards the eighty 'transporters' had their turn. They would strip the trees of all the unnecessary pieces like small branches, cut them into pieces, just small enough that they could comfortably pull them back towards Westwatch and deposit them at a bigger free space directly north of the castle. Jon had quickly noticed that this group was the most crucial stage for speed. The slower their work was, the longer the entire procession chain would last. He therefore instructed Lord Baelor to depart and acquire some working horses or cattle to accelerate the transport of wood to Westwatch.

Another fifty people were supposed to join the force of the 'processors'. They were destined to cut the wood into shippable timber convenient both for house and ship building with saws and axes. In the first days they started out by practicing with some of the already available wood of lower quality that they were allowed use to build or expand their huts in the south-western residential district.

The rest of the people were organized into smaller groups. The more skilled craftsmen became 'carvers' who were supposed to create desperately needed furniture and the self-explanatory 'builders'. A few became normal fishers down in the Gorge, and like Rodgar they used spears instead of the more practical nets. Many women joined the cooks under Qarl the Fat. A few mindless brutes that weren’t of use anywhere else were either send into the canyon as quarrymen or became low-ranked builders. The older children and some gentler women that didn’t consider themselves as spearwives were instructed to be 'helpers' who did the traditional tasks of servants in a keep, as cleaners, food servers, cloth washers and similar occupations.

The arrangements led to some expected difficulties in the first days. After a few dozens of injuries, thankfully none of them fatal, and a few reclassifications, the live in Westwatch became smoother every day however. Jon himself needed to intervene less and less to solve conflicts.

Lord Baelor, Asha and Dagmer began to make weekly trips to Bear Island and back to transport all the produced timber. There the transhipment point functioned apparently flawlessly. Bigger vessels moved the material to Blacktyde where Lord Baelor had constructed a great storage hall, so the timber wouldn‘t get wet from rain and sea water.

* * *

Ghost sporadically showed himself in Westwatch forcing Jon to ask Orad after the first week to warn his kin that the direwolf was his companion and harmless unless provoked. Orad and a few others, one of them Morra, had quickly come to the correct conclusion that he was warg and approached him about it. The fact that a 'southerner' was a warg had earned him lots of respect from the Free Folk who until then didn’t really take him seriously, mainly because of his young age.

Some had asked him about his proficiency with the skill and he had truthfully told them that he was unable to take possession or as the Free Folk said 'slip into the skin' of an animal other than Ghost despite trying. The Hornfoots didn’t have any wargs among them, but they still had some knowledge about the ability. Both known wargs of the tribe had joined Mance Rayder’s host.

Morra who inexplicably got herself a place as a scout knew a solution for him. Jon had received a blue jay from her which wasn’t able to fly away because it had a broken wing, probably broken by the spearwife herself. He had nursed the crippled bird back to health as instructed, thereby winning its trust. When he had tried to slip into the animal, it had only given him little resistance. 'Blueberry' as Asha had named him was able to fly again after a month. Jon didn’t believe his spouse knew about his ability for she hadn’t breached the topic or treated him any differently. She had only mockingly called his care for Blueberry 'very cute'.

A flying bird's view was truly magnificent. Jon had easily been able to oversee everything happening in the castle and its surroundings from around fifty meters up in the air. Jon’s exploration had nevertheless been brusquely and painfully interrupted by Morra kicking his mindless body, sitting on a chair , into the groin. Apparently it was a common cause of death for unexperienced wargs to 'lose themselves' in their first possessed animals, unable to find back to their own body without taking part of the animal back with them. Jon had managed to find his real body easily on his next attempt. He assumed that all the practice with Ghost was resonsible.

Jon had asked the Hornfoots to not talk about his magic skills to the Ironborn, fearing the possible backslash of the more fanatic believers of the Drowned God and the Seven.

* * *

Jon was also confronted with the biggest problem of their venture yet in his opinion. There had been several cases of Ironborn forcing themselves onto Free Folk women. At least four of Jon’s men had died because their victims defend themselves violently. Jon had planned to behead the surviving culprits after he had heard of the matters but Orad, who had silently joined the leadership of Westwatch and proven himself as both intelligent and pragmatic, told him that kidnapping and rape were part of the Free Folk culture. If a woman couldn’t defend herself that was her own fault and problem. A successful kidnapping was even seen as the proper form of wedding ceremony, which lead to at least a dozen misunderstandings.

Jon had a hard time accepting the custom. It was doubtlessly disgusting and barbaric. Asha’s reaction was less severe, even as a woman herself. She had just told him to 'respect the Free Folk's way of life like the Ironborn's'.

As a first action Jon decided to summon all Ironborn and let Orad explain several important characteristics of the Free Folk culture.

Afterwards, he successfully convinced Urron, the only drowned men with them, and Septon Dothor to help him out.

Septon Dothor was one of Lord Baelor’s men whose main occupation was to tend to the newly erected stone sept of Westwatch which the Lord of Blacktyde had festively named the 'Sept-beyond-the-Wall', obviously inspired by the Sept-beyond-the-Sea in Braavos. Additionally, the older man, together with his pious liege, constantly tried to convert a few of the Hornfoots to the Seven. From Jon’s observation they hadn’t been very successful so far.

Jon ordered that all Free Folk women that claimed to have been _properly abducted_ and therefore considered themselves married had the choice to wed their respective Ironborn in a ceremony of the man’s choosing to clarify the situations in the women’s favour. Over the following weeks several women became salt wives in a simple ceremony down in the Gorge or normal wives according to the customs of the Faith in the sept.

* * *

Rodrik had finally written in the beginning of the new year that he had begun to sell part of the wood, mainly to the other Lords of the Iron Islands. The current Regent had decided to sell the goods cheaper than market price while still leaving them with substantial profit, just as they had planned before their departure. By the next month Rodrik predicted that Westwatch would have earned them more than the costs of establishing the outpost. The Ironwood was especially in great demand, even from Lords of the Westerosi mainland, which led Jon to instruct the scouts to focus on the sturdy trees especially.

That they were able to sell the wood cheaply while still raking in substantial profits had two main reasons. The smaller and more obvious was the low cost of the Free Folk workers. The main reason however was the taxation and tariff practices of Westeros which were partly helping them out by coincidence and partly by Rodrik’s convenient interpretations.

In general there existed several types of taxes and tariffs on the timber trade which were valid for basically all goods and often applied simultaneously:

The first was the 'common trade tax'. The common trade tax had to be paid for all trades between nobles, merchants and guild craftsmen to the direct liege lord of the buyer. The liege paid part of his received share to the Lord he was sworn to himself. This practice was done until the highest tier of nobility in form of the Lord of the Great House that governed the region. Jon was part of that highest tier of nobility on paper. He only owned allegiance to the King. The King however didn’t receive a share himself. Such a practice had been considered by some Targaryen kings, but never implemented. A common saying went that most Lords were unable to differentiate between tyranny and taxation. Directly taxing the Great Houses was no different than asking them to start a rebellion.

Smallfolk like fishers, farmers, animal breeders, millers and similar occupations were generally exempted from this because their respective liege lords were unable to sufficiently control their actions. These people usually paid their levies in a percentage share of their produced goods.

The common tax obviously applied when Rodrik sold the wood off. However, in contrast to many other trade routes through half of Westeros the tax only was applied once. The reason was simple: From Westwatch until they sold it, the wood was always owned by Jon and didn’t fell in the possession of any middlemen. Neither Lady Maege nor Lord Baelor owned the wares that were temporarily stored on their islands. And because the timber was mainly sold to other nobles of the Iron Islands by Jon, their liege lord, Rodrik could unproblematically waive it which was common practice in these instances.

The second tax was the so called 'royal tax'. This one usually applied to all trades between the nine constitutional regions of the realm and had to be paid to the King. Jon thought the reasoning behind it to be just: The King was responsible for the entirety of the realm. His duty was to protect it from all threats from the inside and the outside. Consequently he had a right to receive a compensation for all the cross-regional trade that wouldn’t happen so easily without him.

Here it got tricky. After Rodrik’s liberal interpretation there didn’t happen any inter-regional trade when he sold the wood to other Ironborn in Jon’s name. Not only was Westwatch part of Jon’s personal domain, even if it wasn’t part of the Iron Islands themselves, but Westwatch also wasn’t in one of the other eight regions of the Seven Kingdoms. Therefore the tax didn’t apply. It was possible to consider Westwatch to be located on the land of the Night’s Watch, which was treated on the same tier as the other nine regions. The black brother had built and inhabited the keep for centuries and institution after all. Rodrik’s counterargument was that the order not only abandoned the place, the King had also not written in Jon’s quickly made document that appointed him as Lord of Westwatch that the Night’s Watch was still his liege in this new role as it was usually required or mentioned it in a different way. Additionally, the Night’s Watch hadn’t made any attempt to establish such a relationship openly, probably out of ignorance. Jon couldn’t fault them though. Maron had told him that Lord Commander Jeor had been severely injured in some sort of attack in his own bedroom in Castle Black and was still recovering from his wounds.

The final relevant tax was the 'realm tax'. It worked and was justified with the same principles as the royal tax, only that the subject wasn’t the cross-regional trade but the trade beyond the borders of the Seven Kingdoms.

Rodrik’s argumentation why this tax also didn’t apply worked similarly as well. The first question was if Westwatch was even located in the Seven Kingdoms. The commonly accepted definition said that the border of the realm ended in the north with the Wall. Now the first problem was that the Wall did not end at the Sunset Sea, it ended approximately thirty kilometers away from the Bay of Ice. The logical and obvious solution was that the remaining border after the Wall, directly adjacent to the Gorge, followed the Milkwater until its end into the sea.

One possible standpoint focused itself on the fact that Westwatch was located on the north-western shore of the Milkwater, so it was located on the other side of the border. The realm tax, argued Rodrik, required nevertheless a sovereign entity to work. The Lands-beyond-the-Wall had never received such an acknowledgement, and all Kings-beyond-the-Wall were officially considered illegitimate. Following this line of thought the tax didn’t apply.

After a second possible point of view it could be argued that the keep was the sole exception to the rule and still part of the realm. Not only had King Robert granted Jon the Lordship over Westwatch it was also built and inhabited for centuries by the Night’s Watch, an institution of the Seven Kingdoms, funded by the Iron Throne and the North, before they had abandoned it. Because the keep was therefore still inside the border, the realm tax couldn’t apply by simple deduction.

No matter the legal angle, the realm tax wasn’t applicable.

Then at last tariffs had to be considered. Tariffs could be demanded by every Lord for all goods that passed his lands. They were mainly decreed on transportation chokepoints like gates, bridges and ports. Both Jon and Lord Baelor obviously didn’t demand any tariffs in Westwatch or Blacktyde on the wood. Lord Baelor already received a non-insignificant share of the sales proceeds for his great contributions in form of land, men, ships and personal commitment. The only person that asked for tariffs was Lady Maege in Bear Island. The rate was extremly low however. Jon guessed that the main reason she put up the tariffs officially was that she wanted to give Winterfall its own fair share from the new route.

The biggest loser of their newfound source of wealth was unfortunately the North after all. It the greatest producer and seller of timber in the Seven Kingdoms. Jon hadn’t received a disapproving message from Father, Robb or another Northern Lord yet, even though he expected quite a few to arrive in the coming months. As Hand of the King his father could easily hinder their machinations, but Jon couldn’t believe that Father would use his power like that after already receiving his allowance at Winterfell in the past.


	17. The Rayder King (Asha II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha makes a deal to alter the fate of two folks.

_Jon,_

_I hope this message arrives timely at Westatch._

_Two months ago, Mother captured Lord Tyrion Lannister and brough him to the Eyrie. She claimed that he sent the catspaw that wanted to kill Bran. The Imp demanded a trial by combat and won. I heard that Tywin amassed his troops with the goal to retaliate. The King however has decreed that no fighting shall take place._

_Nevertheless the Riverlands are getting burned and plundered by hordes of armed bandits., surely Lannister work._

_Let’s hope this all goes over peacefully._

_By the way, Lord Rodrik Ryswell is getting antsy about your newfound source of wood. Personally I am impressed, I didn’t expect you had something like this in you. Don’t freeze your balls off or get yourself killed by some wildling. Otherwise House Torren would be the briefest Great House in the history of Westeros._

_Also, Theon was apparently seen in Braavos. Maybe he wants to lay with a whore one last time and decided to honour the Black Pearl._

_How is your married life?_

_Stay alive and cautious._

_Robb,_

_Acting Lord of Winterfell_

* * *

_My lovely Asha,_

_I am writing this message in Pentos. It will be sent to Winterfell, so that Lord Stark can forward it to Westwatch._

_I hope you are healthy and well off in the freezing snow. I sorely miss both Pyke and you. My homesickness has never been this powerful before in my entire life._

_Me and Harras arrived in Pentos as you instructed. After around three weeks we got invited to a meeting with a wealthy magister called Illyrio Mopatis in his personal manse._

_We came to an easy agreement: He will give us experienced ship builder, Braavosi and Tyroshi, that will help us rebuilt the Iron Fleet greater than it ever was before. As payment he wants the use of the newly built ships and our men in some sort of great venture in the future. I tried to find out what he meant, but the man kept his lips completely tight. He however claims that it will not happen for at least three years. If we sign the treaty and honour it, we will be richly awarded. As a gesture of good faith he has already agreed to send the ship builders with us to Pyke. Considering their expressions and the few guards that the magister also gave us with them the men are surely slaves. The magister is also open to my idea to trade with Pyke. He also agreed to my condition that he helps funding our new shipyards._

_While I and Harras obviously wanted to agree to this deal, the treaty must be signed by you to be valid (or Jon)._

_We shall arrive at Lordsport in the second month._

_Hoping to see you there,_

_Tris_

* * *

At the beginning of the third month of the year 299 AC Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, governed by Asha alone, received a guest. It was a man that was apparently rather well-known among the Hornfoots.

“Everyone has heard of Tormund Giantsbane, Lady Steelchain. Mainly for his truly ridiculous tales, ha! He’s one of Mance Rayder’s most trusted men,” Orad explained with a cheerful expression.

She had received her new name 'Lady Steelchain' among the Hornfoots around two weeks ago. Orad explained that it was a sign of honour, bestowed upon her because she ordered the people around without tolerating any whiny backtalk to keep Westwatch running. It was also against the customs of the Free Folk to use noble titles. Asha and Jon were the exception to the rule because the resident Free Folk respected them so much.

It had been a month since Jon had departed to the Iron Islands. He wanted to organize the construction of the Iron Arsenal, the future great shipbuilding yard of the Iron Islands. Additionally, he would look over and likely sign the mysterious treaty with the magister of Pentos. Asha didn’t know what to really think about that. She questioned of course who they were supposed to attack for that was the only purpose of employing a fleet as grand as they were going to build. Asha would definitely sign the contract no matter their target though. The possible boons were just too great to ignore.

Jon was also nervous about the apparent conflict between the Lannisters and the Tullys. Asha could only understand it to a degree. Jon had told her how Lady Stark had treated him like trash, so why should her husband now care what happened to the lands of her family? Asha for sure wouldn’t. Of course that would change if the Starks themselves intervened. Lord Stark was Hand of the King though, the likelihood of war was low.

The great Tormund Giantsbane finally entered the solar and her sights. The man wasn’t particularly tall. He had a broad chest, a massive belly, and a beard white as snow. On his massive arms he wore golden bands engraved with runes of the First Men. Her guest was armoured with heavy ringmail which was coloured black, possibly taken from a dead ranger of the Watch.

The impressively dressed man had a smile on his face. He swiftly sat down on the for him intended stool and grabbed the pitcher filled with ale on the table to drink it down.

“Aaah! That’s some of the best stuff I have ever gotten in my life,” he boomed with liquor dripping down his beard. “I think I should I introduce myself: My name is Tormund Giantsbane, the Thunderfist, the Tall-talker, Horn-blower and Breaker of Ice, Husband to Bears, the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods and Father of Hosts.”

_A boaster indeed..._

“My name is Orad, the chieftain of the Hornfoots of Westwatch here. It’s an honour to finally meet a man of your reputation.”

Tormund’s chest puffed out with pride. “It is also a pleasure to meet you, chieftain.” Then he looked over to Asha.

Orad decided to introduce her. “This is Lady Ironchain. Her husband owns this castle, but the White Wolf is far in the south to attend his vast lands currently.”

'White Wolf' was the name Jon was called by the Free Folk. Asha thought it to be laughably unimaginative. Her own name was much more impressive.

“So you really are green land kneelers!” Tormund exclaimed as if he hadn’t known it beforehand.

Tormund obviously had some sort of fable for titles, so it was probably a good idea to show off a bit herself. She doubted that the man knew the name of any place south of Winterfell.

“Asha Greyjoy is my true name, Princess of the Iron Islands, the Lady Reaper of Pyke, Rebuilder of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge and Captain of the _Black Wind_.”

Tormund clapped twice enthusiastically. “A true princess, woah!”

‘Former princess.’

Her father had died as a king. Therefore she had a rather sound claim to the title of princess. She obviously never used it because it came of as ludicrously self-important and only reminded everyone of the humiliating defeat by the hands of the mainlanders the Ironborn had suffered.

Tormund seemed to have calmed himself after a few moments, though he still had a wide smile on his face.

“It thinks it’s time to say why I am here. The great Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the Wall, sends me.”

_No surprises here._

“And what does Mance want?” Orad asked cautiously.

“He wants to meet the new Lord of this place of course, Jon Snow. He is your husband, Princess, isn’t he? The White Wolf, hmm...”

Asha managed to suppress the flash of anger that had appeared inside her. Everyone at Westwatch always saw Jon as the ultimate authority on every important issue. It seemed like she was destined to live in her husband’s shadow, even if he was thousands of kilometers away.

“Yeah, but he isn’t here currently, as mentioned,” Orad replied.

“And when will he be back?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Asha snapped. “If you want something, talk to me.”

Tormund quickly gathered himself. “Well, Mance wants to meet the leader of the southerners. I am supposed to accompany him.”

“I will go with you.”

She hadn’t even thought before her reply, so great was her frustration.

Tormund laughed. “Great! Let’s go tomorrow then, I want to taste some fancy kneeler food.”

* * *

They departed two days later. Their group consisted of Tormund, Asha and half a dozen Hornfoot spearwives who wanted to see their family.

Ghost also trailed them. Jon had left his best friend behind with his wife to 'protect her'. Asha wanted to punch someone whenever she recalled the scene of her husband loudly declaring his concern for her safety in front of dozens of people.

_I can protect myself just fine._

Tormund been extremely impressed by the direwolf. According to him the predators were rarely seen in the Lands-beyond-the-Wall. Tormund claimed that Ghost who had grown to the size of a smaller pony would surpass Asha’s height in less than a year.

They were moving directly northwards. The Hornfoots knew the Frostfangs like no other, so they deemed it to be the safest and quickest route to Mance Rayder’s host.

The ascension of the first mountain already exhausted Asha. Everyone else seemed just fine which hurt her pride quite a bit. Though she had soon spent half a year in the 'true north', Asha wasn’t acclimatised to the cold as the Free Folk were. Something that showed itself during the nights. Thankfully, she had Ghost to keep her warm. He was so cuddly.

When she was woken up by one of the spear wives, she, Sygna, mentioned something interesting: “I wish my Kal would look out for me like your man does. Can’t all have a warg as mate, I guess.”

Later that day she asked Tormund about the wargs. She only vaguely remembered a few childhood stories.

“Oh? They are skinchangers, beastlings,” the older man explained. “Men who can slip into the skin of wolfs and dogs… They are dangerous, I must warn you. The bond with their partnered animals goes both ways, makes them more feral. Have met a few, they’re all mad. They become more and more like their bonded over time.”

He then told her some more tales about them, some stories sounded believable to Asha, other stuff less so.

 _Bonded animals… like Ghost… and Blueberry_ , she easily realized.

In hindsight it looked extremely obvious, making Asha feel like a complete fool. Apparently, her husband was some sort of nature magic performer. Sygna had known it, Morra had given Jon the bird herself, so she too; Orad as the Hornfoots' leader of course. Her own husband was trying to hide that he had such a mythical talent and was seemingly exploring it.

_Maybe that’s why he enjoys to do me from behind so much the last few weeks._

Asha herself didn’t have a problem with magic. She had seen Naga’s bones on Old Wyk, the Wall, and the eerie oily black stone the Seastone Throne was made of that also formed the foundation of the Hightower. Magic was obviously real, but most stories about it warned how destructive and uncontrollable it was.

Tormund said that skinchanging was a talent one was born with. It was something that originated from one’s blood.

_If it is inheritable... my children might have magic as well._

She wasn’t sure what to feel about that.

* * *

In the sixth day since their departure they passed 'the Slim Pass' which marked the northern border of the former territory of the Hornfoots that now lived in Westwatch.

A week later they reached 'the Skirling Pass' which housed an outpost of the Free Folk host, and a day later they reached the valley that so many inhabited.

The valley was packed. Everywhere Asha looked were small tents, in all conceivable colours. She was unable to discern any sort of organized layout of the massive camp. It was complete chaos.

The sight of the settlement made Asha a little anxious. Tormund was generally always exaggerating, so she hadn’t believed him that Mance Ryder had amassed over one hundred thousand men and women. She remembered the state of the Night’s Watch, barely a thousand man strong.

_There is no way that they can compete with this._

Soon her group went down into the valley to the heart of the mess.

“Is that a fucking giant?” she couldn’t help but exclaim with a shocked tone. The being to her left between a few tents and next to a _living mammoth_ was at least eight meters tall. It was covered by a shaggy light brown pelt of fur that seemed thicker below its waist than above. The head was thrust forward from the shoulder blades and featured a squashed-in faces with square teeth and tiny eyes amidst folds of horny flesh.

Asha only received laughter. “Don’t worry they are mostly harmless,” Tormund said in a cheerful tone. “I will introduce you to Mag the Mighty later, he’s their king. Not a few of them are left sadly…”

 _Isn’t 'Giantsbane' one of his titles?_ Asha wondered what was up with that.

The people in their way respectfully made space for their entourage. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Tormund or Ghost who walked now directly next her. They arrived and stopped at a big tent in the centre of the settlement. The King’s abode seemed to be made from white pelts of snow bears and was topped with the antlers of a giant elk.

“Alright,” Tormund spoke, “let’s go inside. I am sure Mance would like to see you as soon as possible.”

The spearwifes had left them to meet their kin, so only the two of them and Ghost entered through the flap.

Asha’s first reaction was that the interior of the tent looked surprisingly comfortable. There was elaborately decorated furniture wherever she looked. All kinds of stuff laid around. She recognized weapons of all forms and materials like stone daggers, weirwood bows and rusty bronze swords. There was also a big horn of bone, spotted with carved runes, on a podium.

Her gaze was drawn to the middle of the wide room. There stood a larger round table of black ironwood. At the table sat several men and women.

She guessed their station immediately as the highest commanders. One of them was surely Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall.

Her question who he exactly was got answered by Tormund walking to one of the male attendees.

“Mance!”

“Tormund, how good to see you back!”

They hugged, giving Asha time to muster the man. The leader of the Free Folk was a slender man of middling height. His long brown hair had gone mostly to grey, and laughter lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. He had a sharp face with shrewd brown eyes. He wore wool and leather, over which a slashed cloak of black wool and red silk was draped. Interestingly enough, the man did not have a crown on his head. On the contrary, his shaggy fur breeches made him look rather unimpressive in Asha’s eyes.

“I brought a princess with me, would you believe it,” Tormund declared loud enough for all to hear and gestured to her.

Mance Rayder looks at her and laughed. “I remember the Princess Myrcella as quite a bit younger, with blond hair and green eyes.”

_He has seen the Princess?_

Asha was already impressed by the King-beyond-the-Wall’s first sentence. Her opinion of him rose a few notches. This man was no simple wildling.

“My name is Asha Greyjoy,” she quickly introduced herself to avoid further misunderstandings. “The Lady of the Iron Islands and Westwatch-by-the-Bridge.”

Mance Rayder’s eyes widened a bit in understanding. “Ah, the new wife of Lord Stark’s bastard! I was there when he received his new title from King Robert, aye.”

The man had apparently been in Winterfell when the King visited it with his household. Asha’s silent question had been answered, but she could hardly focus on that.

_Once again, I am only the wife._

Luckily, Asha was able to contain her emotions. Maybe she was also slowly getting used to it.

“Well, I am pleased to meet you, Lady Greyjoy. You can call me Mance,” the leader of the Free Folk said nonchalantly.

Father had once said that a true leader didn’t need to look like one. All that mattered was that the people would follow his orders. Mance seemed like such a person.

She sat down on a wooden seat Mance had gestured to. The man was soon seated on the opposite side of the grand table with Tormund to his left. On his right sat a beautiful young woman, slender with a full bosom, with long blonde hair that reached to her waist. The woman had high sharp cheekbones and eyes which appeared pale grey. She was dressed all in white, making her stand out among all the older men in darker clothes.

She thought about the best approach for the coming talk.

_I need to make a good impression as a strong warrior while also showing that I am not like them. The pride of a noble of a Great House, but not the arrogance._

She tried to speak in the most well-spoken Common Tongue she could without overdoing it: “I am honoured to meet someone of your reputation, Mance, though I am wondering why you wanted to speak with me or Jon personally. Surely a message would have been sufficient.”

“I didn’t actually expect to you to come,” Mance revealed with a slight smile, “but this is better. I really wanted to make my own opinion of the new inhabitants of Westwatch. When I saw it the last time it was a ruin.”

“We rebuilt and expanded it,” Asha replied in a slightly haughty tone. She was proud of what her Ironborn had accomplished. They had the reputation of being mindless raiders, so proving the general opinion wrong for all to see felt great.

“You need the wood for your ships I assume.” Mance seemed to be well informed.

“Yes, my spouse has received Westwatch from King Robert. The wood is of good quality here and cheaper than bought.”

“Ownership of land is something we of the Free Folk do not understand. The land is the land and we only live from it... but let’s come to the reason I wanted to speak with you now: Your ships.”

“You won’t get them.” There wasn’t anything to consider. Those were Ironborn ships.

“I have eighty thousand of the Free Folk here that all want to go south, could you stop me from just taking them?” Mance friendly smile turned into a challenging smirk.

“An empty threat. We have ten ships currently transporting wood between Westwatch and Bear Island. Not even closely enough for your numbers. The Watch is on the other side of the Bridge, Winterfell only a quick raven flight away.”

Mance laughed out loud, not angry at all. “True, true…”

“So, what do you really want from us?”

“Passage, of course,” the man spoke. “I promised my people to lead them south and your ships would be an opinion without unnecessary bloodshed.”

“And what would we get for this? It’s not like we can simply ship you to the other side of the Bay of Ice in a few weeks.”

With the numbers of people here, they would need months for the short trip already.

“A place… with space to live, without a high risk of dying. That would be my preferred target. I haven’t decided yet to be honest. I didn’t actually believe you would be open to this idea. Isn’t your husband the one in charge? He’s a Northman. I doubt he would even entertain something like this.”

That was probably true, but Asha wasn’t Jon.

_I can make my own decisions. For the Iron Islands._

“My husband has already opened his castle to one of your tribes. He doesn’t think like a common man of the North.”

That was a half-lie at best. Jon was still very much a Northman, to Asha's own frustration often times.

“Obviously we Ironborn can’t ship off eighty thousand people… not without adequate compensation.”

“Splendid,” Mance beamed. “Let’s negotiate. I assume you want wood?”

“Of course, we do.”

_This could solve all our problems in less than a year._

Asha thought about how much she could demand. Asha wasn’t a great paper pusher but if there was one thing that she was the most proficient in then it was ships which included their construction process. She had designed her _Black Wind_ herself.

Both Asha and Jon’s goal was it to rebuild the Iron Fleet to be the strongest in Westeros, maybe even in the entire world. Jon had already decided to construct the great Braavosi war galleys and according to Tris’ letter that seemed entirely feasible for the future.

The material costs of a single war galley varied a lot based on the specific type. Asha assumed that a realistic estimation of their average future vessel demanded three hundred tons of wood.

The next question would be how much galleys they wanted to build.

The Iron Fleet had numbered one hundred at the start of her father’s uprising and consisted of ships three times the size of a standard longship of the Isles. At the moment their fleet had just about half of that strength. Uncle Rodrik hadn’t invested any significant resources into it. Instead he had focused himself on rebuilding and upgrading the infrastructure of the Islands themselves.

The currently biggest group of battle ships in Westeros was the Redwyne fleet of the Arbour. As far as she knew Lord Paxter Redwyne owned two hundred warships. It was said though that additionally five times as many merchant carracks, wine cogs, trading galleys, and whalers were serving him.

Two hundred war galleys had to be built at least as a consequence. To guarantee the Ironborn’s unconditional naval superiority they needed at least three hundred in Asha’s opinion.

_Let’s go with four hundred. Can’t be any harm in that._

The four hundred ships-to-be with a cost of three hundred tonnes each needed 120 thousand tonnes of wood. If you added the cost of the necessary infrastructure of the shipyards, the construction of other types of vessels like trade cogs and all kinds of other structures…

“I want 200 thousand tonnes.”

“Madness!” exclaimed the blond woman.

Mance had stilled for a short time too. “Val here speaks true. We would need years for this amount. I doubt you could even move this much material to your homeland. We can’t move it either.”

“Firstly, you have giants and mammoths. Secondly you can just use the Milkwater and its tributaries,” Asha explained. “There are commonly used practices to move the wood with the natural flow of a river, log driving and timber rafting.”

“We know those things as well,” Mance replied swiftly. “However, the amount just isn’t feasible for us because we are on a timer. Winter is coming.” The words of House Stark sounded ominous as always, but Asha understood his problems.

 _We can indeed not move and use all the timber at once_.

Half of her demand would already be more than enough for quite some time. The help of Mance’s host was something she couldn’t just give up. It was just too efficient.

“Good, then let’s make a different deal. I demand only 120 thousand tonnes.” Then Asha had a flash of inspiration “Let’s make ironwood count two times its weight… and weirwood twenty.”

She knew that the weirwood trees were considered sacred by the believers of the Old Gods, but she couldn’t repress her greed. The white material made the best timber in the world, but it was basically impossible to find on the market and then only in minimal amounts, mainly as bows which were expensive beyond means.

“We will not cut down any weirwoods, kneeler,” Val proclaimed. This woman seemed quite feisty. She reminded Asha of herself a bit.

Similar outraged calls were made by many other men of the Free Folk in the tent. A bearded man with dark hair that reached his shoulders stood especially out.

Mance was the only one that seemed to remain calm. “I don’t think there would be a problem with giving you deadwood though it may be petrified. I need to pose the condition nonetheless that it wouldn’t be sold off and used without the respect it deserves.”

Asha could barely contain her joy. “Don’t worry, my husband keeps to the Old Gods just like you. He will never let anything happen to it which would dishonour your faith.”

“Not one of us met your man though,” the man who had protested the loudest exclaimed. He was was dressed all in black. Asha recognized his cloak as one worn by the Brothers of the Night’s Watch. “And he’s a Stark, no? I would never trust a fucking Stark!”

“Crowkiller is right,” Tormund spoke while standing up. “I suggest sending someone that will go south and watch out that nothing nefarious happens.” He made a dramatic pause. “I volunteer myself for this important endeavour!”

 _He just wants our food and ale._ Tormund’s behaviour wasn’t very difficult to comprehend in general.

“Ignoring the weirwood, Alfyn here makes a good point nevertheless,” Mance spoke up. “How can we trust that your man keeps to your side of the deal after receiving all the timber?”

Fortunately, Asha already knew a easy solution.

“Simple, we move your people southwards step-by-step. The more wood you give us, the faster your people can leave. We will start after the first thirty thousand tonnes, so you have time to choose your destination and we can prepare the vessels. I advise you to choose somewhere in Essos.”

Mance seemed satisfied with her idea. It wasn’t that he had much to lose. After a while Mance gave his counteroffer: “How about we decide on twenty-five thousand larger trees in timber. You need to know that we lack the ability to adequately measure Westerosi tonnes up here. Ironwood and petrified weirwood will count three- and fiftyfold respectively.”

Asha didn’t know the specifics, but from what she had observed in Westwatch, she guessed a 'large tree' of the Haunted Forest could be turned into three or four tonnes of usable timber.

“That’s acceptable for me,” she accepted. “I will return to Westwatch and send messages to Pyke and Bear Island to prepare everything then.”

Mance stood up and moved towards her with a cheerful expression on his face. “Splendid, I will send a few thousand of my people under Tormund and Val with you, so they can start as close as possible to you.” The King-beyond-the-Wall then stuck out his hand to seal the deal.

Asha grasped it tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have researched the numbers regarding galleys and trees in this chapter and feel they should work out more or less. The galleys might be on the bigger side, but a common theme of ASOIAF is, that all kinds of structures are much bigger than they should really be (Westeros itself, the Wall, the Hightower, Winterfell, the galleys of the royal fleet)


	18. The Iron Arsenal (Jon XV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is put to test by all sides.

_Map of the Iron Arsenal at the beginning of the year 302 AC:_

Jon arrived with the _Sea Wolf_ at the Ten Towers four weeks after he had departed from Westwatch. The trip lasted longer than planned because he had been forced to make a stop in Deepwood Motte to renegotiate his deal with Lord Glover.

The man had come to the correct realization that as the man who sold the most ironwood in the entire realm, he would lose quite a bit of money through Jon as a cheaper competitor. Initially Lord Glover had wanted to cancel the food supply deal completely, but Jon had given him an alternative: House Glover would from now on sell his timber to Jon who would bring it to the Iron Islands, so he would sell it together with his own. The Lord of the Wolfswood would receive at least the market price and in return continue to supply Westwatch.

The end goal for Jon was to control the ironwood market to artificially drive up the price by withholding his available stock. Until he had the influence to accomplish that, he would surely only lose gold but sometimes you needed to make a few steps back in order to move forwards. Jon already planned to approach other Northern Lords for a similar deal.

The long summer was rumoured to be ending soon too. The prices of firewood were therefore destined to rise. It actually had already stated. The smarter people who had the means were already preparing themselves.

_I am just helping a bit._

“It’s good to see you back, Jon,” Rodrik greeted him in his library..

“Likewise.”

They quickly discussed what happened over the last few months in the Iron Islands.

One event was of especially great concern.

“One of Lord Estren’s cogs has disappeared. Its wreck and two survivors have later been found on the shore of Fair Isle. They claim that they were attacked by a red-coloured longship with red sails which depicted a white bone hand.”

“House Drumm.” Jon recognized the coat-of-arms easily.

“Indeed. Lord Dunstan Drumm’s personal ship even, the _Thunderer_. I even contacted an friend on Old Wyk who confirmed the story.”

_I guess, it was only a matter of time._

Lord Dunstan Drumm, also known as 'The Drumm' and 'the Bone Hand', was the head of House Drumm and Lord of Old Wyk. He was one of Jon’s principal bannermen and according to Rodrik also one of the most vocal traditionalists.

“We have guaranteed House Estren safe passage in the Sunset Sea, haven’t we?” Jon asked.

“Yes, they were one of the first in fact. They are one of the nearest Houses of the Westerlands to the Iron Islands after all. Only the Banefort is closer than Wyndhall.”

Jon didn’t remember were Wyndhall was exactly located but it had to be on the northern coast of the Westerlands.

“Should I visit Lord Dunstan personally, Rodrik?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure what to do. A raven would have been his first choice for such an infraction, but Lord Dunstan was powerful enough that he deserved special treatment.

“I believe this to be a test of you. Lord Dunstan didn’t care about the ship or its cargo, he only wanted to challenge your authority. I believe a letter inquiring about what happened is always the safe choice. We can plan our next step depending on his reply, if he even writes back.”

“Hmm, makes sense,” Jon replied with a small nod. “Alright, I will send a message.”

The letter he sent was written in a neutral tone, direct accusations of wrongdoing would not be very helpful here. Jon only asked how Lord Dunstan thought about the allegations against him. And if it wasn’t him, if it may have been someone of his household. The text was of course mostly empty phrases of basic noble courtesy. Both Jon and Lord Dunstan knew the blameworthy person.

* * *

The next day Jon arrived on the other side of Harlaw. Rodrik had decided to build their new shipyard at the south-western coast. It would be built on the islets and southern shore of the small estuary of the biggest river in all of the Iron Islands, the Stonewater, although it was barely a river compared to the greater streams of the mainland.

Rodrik had already installed walls of stone to redirect the stream to the nothern side of the delta which created a long-drawn harbour basin on the southern half. The water was rather calm after connecting all the bigger islets, ideal to assemble ships.

The ‘Iron Arsenal’ as they had dubbed the location as a nod to the inspiration in form of the Arsenal of Braavos was going to strengthen the Iron Islands to a level before the rebellion a decade ago. It would be the backbone of the rebuilt Iron Fleet.

The Arsenal was defended by several watch towers already which were placed along the seaside of the estuary and the channel that formed the only entrance to the harbour from the open waters. The defensive structures weren’t very impressive and also wouldn’t be in the near future. The shipyard could never be allowed to suffer a direct attack. If it would the Ironborn had most likely lost the given conflict already.

After the _Sea Wolf_ had entered the Arsenal by passing between two circular stone towers that formed a gate with a stone walkway connecting them high in up in the air Jon took in the massive construction site. Rodrik had told him written him that the men of the Pentoshi magister had temporarily moved into the administration house of the Arsenal that was located a few hundred meters after the gate on the right side of the main channel. Regardless if Jon signed the mysterious treaty, they would help with the building of the complex.

The construction of the yard had barely begun and it would need approximately a year until they could assemble their first new war galleys. Until now only a part of the quays and a few warehouses and halls had been erected. Everywhere he saw workers hushing around, they had to number in the thousands. The gold coffers were palpably getting emptier every day.

Jon was led by an Unsullied to one of the greater rooms of the administration house. The man that led the Pentoshi was named Nevio Masarys, an ugly, fat man with a goatee and a double chin, dressed in robes of purple silk. He sat behind a work desk and was sipping from a goblet of red wine. The man was supposed to manage the building of the shipyard according to one of Magister Mopatis’ conditions to work together.

The man was both was polite and flattering. He wasn't even puzzled by Blueberry on his shoulder, only complimenting her beauty. His overacted friendly tone and sly smile made Jon dislike the man quickly. He wanted to get to the point as soon as possible.

“Your ship builders and workers, are they slaves?” Jon asked.

“Slaves?” Nevio laughed. “No, we in Pentos don’t practice slavery anymore, not since a century.”

_But not out of your own free will…_

During the past two centuries, Pentos had lost the majority of their numerous wars with Braavos. The last war ended in 209 AC with another loss after the magisters of Pentos sued for peace. Braavos forced Pentos to abolish slavery and withdraw from the slave trade. Additionally they took more control of the lands and waters between the two cities. Braavos also limited the Pentoshi military forces and prevented the city from hiring sellswords. That was one of the reasons the fleet of Pentos was basically non-existent and probably why Magister Mopatis wanted their help.

The Administrator Nevio was obviously lying, and they both knew it. He even had at least two Unsullied as guards, slave soldiers.

_There is no point in fighting this. I need the men, free or not._

“After their work is done, they are free to remain here or another of the isles,” he proposed.

“If that is your wish, so be it.”

“Let’s talk about the treaty then,” Jon said.

“Ah, of course. Here it is.” Nevio pushed a document over the table, so Jon could read it.

There were several conditions on both sides.

Most importantly, Illyrio Mopatis would pay them forty thousand gold dragons upfront.

_We need the gold, desperately._

The costs of the Arsenal were just too high. The wood from Westwatch was profitable, but they weren’t able to sell enough to fund the entire project right now. They needed to wait until winter at least where construction speed would msot likely slow down as well.

The Magister also promised to trade at Pyke with a volume of fifty thousand dragons at least over the next two years. Pentoshi ships were almost never seen north of Lannisport, so this seemed to be nice boon.

In return for his engagement the wealthy merchant would receive a share of ten percent in the Arsenal. Once it was finished, they would be building many vessels just to sell them and make their investment back. Jon thought the partition to be adequate considering the magister’s contributions.

Additionally, all trade vessels under the flag of Pentos would be excused from half of the common trade tax which was still left a substantial profit for him and House Botley.

Nevio Masarys would also be the man in charge of the Arsenal until it was finished, something Jon didn’t have a problem with. He wasn’t impressed by the man, but the Magister had no advantage from sabotaging and slowing down the construction. Considering his quick acting speed the man was apparently on a timer, while Jon was not.

The real crux however was Mopatis’ demand to take control of the built Iron Fleet in one instance. It was stated that it would possibly involve a longer conflict. The Ironborn ships and sailors were supposed to partake until victory was assured.

“Can you give me anymore facts about your master’s plan?” he asked Nevio.

The man only smiled lightly. “I would really like to, Lord Torren, but I don’t know much about it myself. My employer is very tight lipped. The Magister only revealed little to me.”

“Oh, and what would that little be?”

“Hmmm, my Lord,” Nevio replied slowly, “as far as I know the assignment potentially involves both sea battles and transportation duties. I think you can make your own conclusion from that…”

To hire the Ironborn made only sense if the conflict was in a reachable distance of the Islands. Considering that Magister Mopatis lived in Pentos it was reasonable that that the conflict wouldn’t be farther away than the Narrow Sea.

The wish for a great fleet meant their opponents also would have one too. That left not many options for their target left.

The Redwyne fleet seemed unlikely to be the intended adversary, he could not think of a single reason the Magister would move against the Arbour or the Reach.

Left on Westeros was only the royal fleet. An obvious cause would be the usurpation of the Iron Throne. Considering that Sansa was to be Queen this wasn’t an option for him. He would not fight against his own family. The Magister surely knew their blood connection, so he didn’t believe the Iron Throne was the goal.

The remaining options were therefore the other Free Cities.

The Three Daughters fitted Nevios’ hints. Lys and Tyrosh were both located on islands, prompting the need of transportation. However as far as he knew Pentos had great relations with the former constitutions of the Triarchy. The Pentoshi tended to ignore the abolishment of slavery partly by hoisting the flags of Lys, Tyrosh and Myr on their ships.

It was however also still possible that the target was one or more of the three. Jon didn't know a lot about the current going-ons beyond the Narrow Sea.

_Maybe Magister Illyrio is just a middlesman himself._

The in Jon's opinion most likely opponent was Braavos. The Free City with the strongest fleet in western Essos, maybe the entire world. Additionally, there was a deep hatred between Pentos and 'the Secret City'. Braavos of the Hundred Isles was also not located on the mainland, sprawled across a hundred islands in a vast lagoon. Therefore troops needed naval transport to attack it. Jon was rather confident in his prediction, but Braavos was a true behemoth.

_How does Pentos believe they can defeat them?_

There had to be an alliance, probably made of the Three Daughters, Pentos and maybe even Volantis. Jon assumed that it was possible, but it would definitely not be easily done. He at least needed assurances.

“I have conditions of my own then.”

“Master Illyrio already expected that,” Nevio said with an easy smile. It was obvious that the fat man knew more than he had divulged.

“I want to receive an advance warning of at least half a year with everything revealed. I have many plans and need to make sure that this won’t disrupt them. I will also not fight to enslave the innocent. It’s against my personal belief as a follower of the Old Gods, I hope you respect that. Additionally, I won't move against the North or my own family. If they are destined to fight against us, I can’t support you. Lastly, I want to receive sufficient compensation for this endeavour, otherwise I can’t take the responsibility on me. This shipyard is going to be great for my people but not great enough for them to vanish below the waves for the cause of other’s.”

After he finished listing his demands, he tried to observe Nevio's reaction, but the ugly Pentoshi just continued smiling. It was really ticking him off by now.

“I do not think this will be a problem. Let’s quickly add your requirements to the formal document.”

_Really?_

Jon had expected at least a bit of push back. With the slavery requirement he could reject an attack on Braavos outright.

_Are we going to attack on of the Three Daughters? There has to be something I am missing…_

* * *

Two weeks later Lord Dunstan still had not answered, forcing Jon to decide what he should do against the man. He had several options available, although none of them were really peaceful. Only a demonstration of strength could keep many of his vassals at heel now.

In the end he went for a measure that he was hopeful would not cause any bloodshed. Creating martyrs was generally one of the worst things you could do as a person in power.

Old Wyk was located east of Great Wyk and west of Orkmont. Windy hills and cruel black mountains made up much of the island. The most important location of the religion of the Drowned God, Nagga's hill, made Old Wyk the holiest of all the Iron Islands.

According to the Ironborn legends the legendary Grey King slew the sea dragon, Nagga, upon its shore. It was also on Old Wyk where the First Men found the Seastone Chair, the traditional throne of the Iron Islands, currently owned by Jon though he had only sat on it a dozen times. The floor and back of the massive stone seat were extremely uncomfortable. He could not understand what was enjoyable in sitting on a throne, looking down one’s subjects.

Drumm Castle was an ugly cube of dark stone which sat on a hill and overlooked the south-eastern shore including the main port of the island. It was deep in the night, so one could only see a few lights burning in the windows of the keep and the houses of the smallfolk below it.

Jon was sitting in a small boat, just about five meters long. It had no mast. With him were seven other men who were guards from Pyke that had volunteered for this mission after receiving the promise of a good story and three gold dragons for each as reward. The latter seemed to have been the greater incentive. They were all dressed in black clothes and fully armed. The sky was clouded thankfully, so the moon would not increase the risk of discovery.

They had made the trip from Lordsport with the _Sea Wolf_. Around a kilometer away from the coast they had lowered the little boat to water and started rowing towards the port.

After a few moments they reached the dock. Dagon, the head guard, pointed towards the biggest longships which laid alongside one of the longer quays reaching outwards into the sea. It was at least thirty meters long and after they got closer Jon was able to make out the reddish colour tone of the hull.

Dagon gestured them to stop rowing by simply holding up his hand. Soon they were slowly gliding to the side of the _Thunderer_ , Lord Dunstan’s personal ship. One of the men threw a hook with a connected rope over the railing. It landed with a noisy plonk.

Everyone stopped still, but there was no other sound heard. Dagon went to take the rope, but Jon grasped his shoulders.

“I go first.”

 _My idea, my responsibility_ , was his thought when he had arrived at the top.

Jon glimpsed over the edge but couldn’t see any guards. He heaved himself on deck as stealthy as he could and gestured to the others to follow.

Still alone, Jon walked around and took the stairs to the upper deck. There he saw him. The man, based on the white bone hand depicted on his chest the intended guard for the night, was sitting on the floor, leaning against the steering wheel. From his closed eyes he seemed to be asleep. Next to his right hand laid an open flask.

Suddenly he heard a loud crash and a curse. One of the men had probably reached the wooden deck with his face first.

“Aaaooh!” The Drumm guard groaned and stretched his arms.

_Not like this!_

Jon run to him swiftly, not caring about the noise he was produncing while drawing his sword.

“Huhhh…?”

He moved to the Ironborn who had opened his eyes, looking bewildered. Jon didn’t waste any time and moved his blade to his opponent’s face.

“Not a word, aye?” he hissed. “Otherwise you’re dead!”

The man was completely under shock but managed a nod.

“Dagon!” Jon called out quietly. “Come up here!”

The head guard soon appeared. His eyes instantly fell onto the guard. “Let’s gag him, my Lord. We have secured the ship. We can let him go when we reach Pyke.”

Fortunately the temporary prisoner didn’t make any foolhardy actions after he heard that he was not in danger as long as he behaved.

_Now for the most difficult part._

Jon’s group was too undermanned to steer the _Thunderer_ how it should, but they managed to get the vessel moving by directly lowering the sails and combinedly pushing themselves away from the stone dock with wooden oars they had found.

Jon went to the steering wheel while looking for the _Sea Wolf_. Ser Worren would give a short light signal every thirty seconds which he soon spotted. He directed the longship towards his personal vessel. Soon the two ships were alongside each other.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jon yelled and couldn’t help himself, he had to laugh. Two dozen man moved from the _Sea Wolf_ to the Thunderer to help rowing, the Drumm guard had been ungagged and asked to help too.

_Fucking perfect._

Everything had gone according to plan.

By next week stories about the Lords of Pyke and Old Wyk were heard in all of the Iron Islands. The smallfolk finally had something new to gossip about and they devoured it.

Jon had made sure to order his men to tell their adventure anyplace they went, so the story of the events would be revealed.

“The Lord of the Iron Isles stole Lord Drumm’s Thunderer in the night as a punishment for attacking a ship from House Estren. He then gave the ship to Lord Regenard Estren as compensation. How just!”

As usual the truth also evolved on its own.

“The Thunderer got stolen in open daylight. Lord Dunstan is now an Ironborn without ship. He cried himself to sleep for a week. Hahaha!”

“Lord Pyke attacked Drumm Castle and burned every ship at port, believe me! It was revenge for the Lord Dunstan trying to take Lady Asha for himself!”

“Lord Drumm fought an honour duel versus the Lord Reaper. The old man got trashed and lost his Valyrian Sword to boot. My friend Rode saw it.”

No more ships were targeted over the next few months.

* * *

_Jon,_

_I managed to make a deal with Mance Rayder._

_They will give us 25.000 trees in timber. The first of it will probably be ready when this letter reaches you._

_I need you to send as many ships to transport the wood as you can. Please supply us with more food too. Several thousand Free Folk are about to arrive at Westwatch._

_In return we will gradually give them passage to a place of their choice – I suggested Essos. The mark of a third of the agreed upon amount where we begin will probably be reached in around six months._

_Asha_

The letter was as short in information as it was shocking. His wife had single-handedly decided to greed for everything she could get.

Jon had to ask himself the question how hard it was to communicate with the people that actually kept things going.

_Honestly, the idea isn’t bad…_

But it was so much, and so fast.

_We don’t even have these warehouse capacities, and the market prices…_

Their faction of the Houses of Pyke, Blacktyde and Harlaw would be forced to possibly use all men and vessels they had available.

Luckely, they could invest much of the wood they wouldn’t be able to use normally into the Arsenal. The construction time could possibly cut by months if they also recruited enough workers from the smallfolk.

He immediately prepared to send a raven with Asha’s letter and his own quick thoughts to the Ten Towers.

There were three problems they had to solve.

Firstly, they needed to ensure the sufficiency of Westwatch.

This was rather easily solved. Jon just needed to open their winter storages and send enough durable food northwards.

Secondly, he had to find enough ships to sent to Bear Island that they would be able to keep the timber supply chain going. The storage capacities of their transhipment point were the most crucial problem right now. The one on Blacktyde and Harlaw could be expanded if it proved necessary as well.

Jon would therefore send a message to Lord Glover and Asha to use Deepwood Motte as a temporary alternative. If Lord Glover rejected which was a realistic outcome, they would have to look for a third location, probably a natural harbour as close to Westwatch as possible.

Regarding the needed ships he would motivate the Ironborn Lords to use as many of their vessels, no matter the ship type. They could promise a discount or a sales share of the material that they moved southwards.

The final and biggest problem was the moving of the Free Folk. Jon didn't even knew how many men, women and children his wife was talking about.

It wasn’t an important issue for now though. They had still a few months left until the agreed upon start of the migration and he had no personal inhibitions with delaying the transportation if it proved itself to be necessary. He however already had an idea where to send part of the people from Beyond-the-Wall.


	19. Confusion in the Capital (Ned II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting of the small council in King's Landing raises several alarming topics.

By now, Ned had developed a healthy dislike for the weekly meetings of the small council. They were a necessary evil though. Robert ignored his duties almost completely, so it was on the council to rule the Seven Kingdoms in his name.

The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with Norvoshi, Qohorik and Lyseni tapestries and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes of black marble flanked the door with eyes of polished garnet.

Everyone was present today with the exception of Robert. Even Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was seated the furthest away from Ned, directly next to the eunuch Lord Varys, the master of whisperers. The knight was for once not on watch duty.

Ned sat at on the right to the empty seat at the head of the rectangular wooden table. Robert had only attended the council once, when the topic was the marriage of Princess Daenerys to a Dothraki Khal. His order to sent assassins had infuriated Ned, and he almost had left the city to go back to Winterfell. He had repressed his emotional reaction however because he knew that the best way to help his family and the North was in King’s Landing right now.

The first meeting point validated his decision.

“Your bastard is trying to dodge trade taxes, Lord Stark,” Littlefinger spoke, sitting two seats down the table and being clearly not amused for once. The Valeman was dressed in his typical simple unassuming tunic and breeches. “I sent a letter to Pyke and got an answer by his right-hand man, the Reader. He believes that wood from Beyond-the-Wall doesn’t fall under our current laws.”

_Why Jon? It has barely been half a year and you already managed to infuriate some of the strongest men of the realm..._

“And is that true?” Ned questioned cautiously.

If he had known that Jon’s idea to get wood from Beyond-the-Wall would end like this, then Ned would have been against the idea immediately and spoken to Robert, so his proclamation over Westwatch would have been revoked.

By now it was too late. He had already approved Jon’s plan twice, personally in Winterfell and per letter from King’s Landing. At least it would likely help Jon to strengthen his support by the ironmen. Theon, wherever he was, was a real threat to Jon with his claim as Balon's only remaining son. Asha's blood might not be enough for their descendants.

“Well, the tax laws are rather complex,” the master of coin replied. “I do not wish to bore everyone here to death… Let’s just say the situation is debateable. There is no precedent and both sides hold a bit truth in it. The main questions are if Westwatch is located in the realm, and if yes, does it fall under the Night’s Watch, the Iron Island or the crown itself. After the Ironborn’s opinion it’s none of them. A fair judgment depends on the answer.”

“Why would it not fall under the Night’s Watch?” Lord Renly Baratheon asked, sitting across from Ned. “It’s obviously one of their castles, no?”

“Ah,” Littlefinger said with his usual smile, “but they abandoned the keep decades ago. It’s also not in their territory according to Jaehaerys the First’s legal definition which gave the brotherhood the New Gift. The document says that the northern border of the lands of the Watch follows from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea the Wall until it meets the Milkwater which it follows until the river flows out into the Bay of Ice in the west.”

“And Westwatch lies on the northern shore of the Milkwater,” Ned added to put everyone on the same page.

“Hmm, looks like a clear-cut case to me. It’s outside of the realm’s borders,” Lord Renly stated.

_It’s definitely not that simple._

Ned got once again the confirmation that the master of laws only got his position on the council because he was the King’s brother. According to Littlefinger’s quips Lord Renly spent more on clothing than half the ladies of the court and Ned believed him. Today, Lord Renly was dressed in dark green velvet, with a dozen golden stags embroidered on his doublet. His cape was a cloth-of-gold.

If he was honest to himself than only three other men deserved to be in the room on merit.

Ser Barristan Selmy deserved his title of Lord Commander without doubt. Littlefinger somehow kept the Seven Kingdoms financially afloat and Vary knew seemingly everything that happened in the realm. Ned disliked both of the latter, the Myrish eunuch for his uncertain loyalties and Littlefinger for his arrogance and sources of his personal wealth and information, _whores_.

Grand Maester Pycelle was obviously in his last years and barely managed to complete his duties from what Ned had seen. Ser Gerion, the master of ships and Lord Admiral of the royal fleet, had replaced Robert’s brother Stannis shortly after the Greyjoy rebellion. The Queen’s influence was the main reason he had gotten the post. In Ned’s opinion, Lord Paxter Redwyne deserved the seat, but Robert was apparently unable to trust the Tyrells and their bannermen, simply because the Reachmen had supported the Targaryen until the end.

“Westwatch is obviously not part of the Iron Islands,” Pycelle wheezed from Ned’s right. “Lord Torren will also not inherit the keep… It’s therefore crownland.”

The old man's verdict was Ned’s view too, so he nodded approvingly.

Littlefinger smiled bitterly. “This doesn’t solve the issue. Normally the royal tax would apply in these cases, but Lord Torren is technically selling his goods from the Iron Islands, mainly to his own bannermen. He’s shipping it to Blacktyde over Bear island without giving up possession. Therefore no taxable cross-regional trade is given.”

“Surely there is a precedent case for this. A Lord that inherited land in different kingdoms and moved resources between them,” Varys commented with a slight smile while looking expectantly at Littlefinger and Pycelle on the opposite tableside. They would know it of all people that were present.

“There were a few Lords in the past that owned land in different constitutional regions, mainly because they inherited from both their fathers and mothers. None of these were connected by land directly or per sea-route, as far as I am aware,” the master of coin said.

_Should I make the council move on from this topic?_

Ned didn’t want to hurt Jon, but he was torn between his loyalty to the King and to his blood.

“I also wanted to raise a point over Westwatch,” Varys spoke up again. “From my sources, Lady Asha Greyjoy has made a pact with Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall.”

_This wasn’t what you told me, Jon!_

Ned was shaken and couldn’t help but feel betrayed. He knew Jon wanted to settle some wildling tribes at Westwatch to work for him and Lady Maege had already notified him of Jon’s agreement with a tribe of a few hundred wildlings. Ned could not believe that Jon would approach the infamous deserter of the Shadow Tower. According to the vague rumours he had heard over the past years Mance Rayder was trying to unite all of the wildlings under his leadership.

“And what does the deal constitute?” Ser Gerion asked with a small laugh. “Is he going to ship them past the Wall for some wood, or what?”

The eunuch formed a wide grin. “Exactly.”

_Madness!_

“He can’t do that,” Renly yelled promptly and no one argued him.

Ned had frozen still.

_What is the foolish boy thinking?_

After a few moments he had recovered from the news enough to speak. “This isn’t acceptable, bordering on treason. I will write a letter to Pyke to forbid Jon from anymore contact with the wildlings as Hand of the King. I will also send a message to the Wall for their reaction,” he declared, earning him vocal approval.

Ned had always thought that his ‘son’ was taking after his true father, Prince Rhaegar. The boy had changed drastically since he had been told that he stood to take over as the new Lord of the Iron Islands. He excelled both in his studies with Maester Luwin and in the sparring yard. The same thing had been told of ‘the Last Dragon’.

After Jon had explained of his plans for Westwatch he had been reminded of his own father and his nephew’s maternal grandfather. Lord Rickard Stark had been a very ambitious man who tried to expand the Starks influence past the Neck into the south.

Now he couldn’t help himself but making the comparison to Jon’s paternal grandfather, King Aerys the Second. The Mad King had been said to be very ambitious during the early years of his reign, and boastful about many grand plans, although he had apparently lost interest in them quickly as well. Ned knew that the Targaryen had planned to invade the Stepstones and add them to his kingdom, and remembered his own father telling him that the both of them once entertained building a new Wall hundreds of kilometres north of the current one to extend the realm further.

_Let’s just hope he won’t follow in Aerys’ footsteps._

This only validated his decision to never tell Jon of his true parentage. The risk was too high that he would actually try to claim the Iron Throne for himself, likely dragging his family and the entire North down with him.

He had completely missed what the other councilmember said because he was so deeply lost in his worries.

“I have another topic too,” Varys said cautiously. "There are disconcerting rumours from Dragonstone, about criminals getting burned alive…”

“The Crown Prince?” Pycelle asked, suddenly wide awake.

_Joffrey._

Ned had only seen Robert's oldest for a short time in Winterfell. The boy had left for White Harbour quickly and then Dragonstone instead of travelling south with the royal procession.

“A red witch has apparently found his favour,” the eunuch elaborated with noticeable distaste.

“That shit was never a good fellow,” Renly said grimly. “He’s both arrogant and cruel. He will be the Mad King come again, I tell you.”

“You speak treason,” Ser Barristan replied coldly. The man had spoken up for the first time in the meeting.

“Indeed”, Pycelle agreed. “The boy still has to mature, that is true. But he will be a great king… I am convinced of it!”

Ned however noticed that the both men did not argue Renly’s claims about his Sansa’s betrothed. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to discuss the heir of realm with these men. Joffrey was bound to come to King’s Landing in the near future. Then Ned could make himself his own picture of Robert's heir.

He quickly decided to move forward to other issues.

“Anything else of note?”

They quickly came to the outlaws that were terrorizing the Riverlands. Everyone knew they were sent by Tywin Lannsiter, but no one voiced it. Robert had sent a group of armed knights and soldiers northwards, led by Ser Jaime Lannister after he had been informed by Ned, reasoning that ‘Tywin’s dogs’ would never harm his liege’s favoured son. Ned had disagreed and wanted to send more trustworthy men.

Varys had told them that the Kingslayer had clashed and defeated the bandits. The leader himself had been killed by the Kingslayer.

“It was a duel for the songs, as far as I heard,” were the eunuch’s final words.

Considering the Lannister's supposed skill Ned rather doubted that. It probably was a quick exchange which ended the unknown criminal's life.

* * *

Littlefinger had asked Ned to stay behind after the meeting.

“Have you come farther in your investigation of Lord Arryn’s death?” the Valeman asked when they were last two men remaining in the chamber. Everyone else had left over a minute ago.

Sadly, Ned had not and told the master of coin so. He was rather certain that the Lannisters were behind it, but neither did he understand their motivations, nor did he possess any credible proof.

He couldn’t even move publicly against the House of the Queen. His wife had assured _that_ with her unthoughtful actions which she had taken in her mad grief over Bran. Thankfully, Tyrion had been able to prove his innocence in a trial of combat. Any other outcome could have led to a total disaster after Catelyn had unjustifiably and against his explicit orders taken the Imp captive. Ned himself didn't believe in the result of the trial because he held to the Old Gods. Tyrion's involvement was still unclear.

Ned had managed to convince Robert that in the end no harm had been done to the King’s good-brother and managed to settle on a compensational fee of 100 thousand gold dragons, paid to Lord Tywin. Two thirds of the expense would come from the coffers of Winterfell, the rest from Riverrun’s.

“Hmm, I remember Lord Arryn making a few detours to a Qohorik master armorer’s shop in the Street of Steel, called Tobho Mott, in his last weeks. Maybe he could help you, Lord Hand. He also visited a whorehouse several times. Don’t look at me like that, Lord Stark! It’s strange but true nevertheless.”

It seemed a bit out there for Ned, but he had no leads left himself.

“I will look into this. Thank you, Lord Baelish, for your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we see the butterfly effect at work.
> 
> No Stannis means that Jon Arryn doesn't know of the incest and that the invastigating Ned doesn't get caught by Jaime in King's Landing.
> 
> Robert survives because Tywin has ordered Cersei to wait killing Robert because of the threat of the Iron Islands that the Westerlands are facing, at least until Joffrey reaches his majority.
> 
> Joffrey is also the Prince of Dragonstone and went there immediately after the King left Winterfell. As a consequence Lady and Nymeria are alive in King's Landing.


	20. Lovers' Spat (Val I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val renegotiates with the newly arrived Lord of the Iron Islands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s talk about Val.
> 
> In my opinion (!) canon Val isn’t a well written, round character. I would argue she isn’t even a true character.  
> Stannis offers Jon Snow Winterfell as his castle and Val as Lady. As a consequence Val is mainly an idea for Jon, a temptation of what could be.  
> She doesn’t hold any other relevance in the story so far.
> 
> Val in canon, no matter the POV, doesn’t seem to have any weaknesses too. She is beautiful, determined, smart, brave, fierce, can ride, fight, track well, etc.  
> It doesn’t really matter in the books because she almost always side-lined from the main action.  
> In fanfiction in which Val is a main character however she often turns into a Mary Sue, just naturally to no fault of the author. Often authors solve this by making her the temporary love interest of the male MC and killing her off dramatically.
> 
> I am trying my best to make her at least somewhat “interesting” in this story.

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was an interesting and new experience for Val. She had seen the few smaller houses of stone in the past, but she had never been in one for more than a night, especially not such a big one.

Val had on arrival been given a small room in the Lord’s Tower, just below the woman’s who was in charge, Asha. It wasn’t very impressive, grey and sparsely furnished but she couldn’t complain. She had endured too many nights in the freezing cold.

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of the current ruler of the castle. Asha Steelchain was brash and direct, characteristics that she liked and shared with her. But the woman was also impulsive and rash. She was almost too pragmatic, it seemed getting the job done was so important for her that she missed out with the quality of the result.

The woman compensated that flaw rather well though, and she did get what she wanted in the end, nevertheless. Val wasn’t sure if Asha didn’t know or wilfully ignored that the designation ‘Steelchain’ that Orad’s Hornfoots had given her was at its core a nod to her slaver-like attitude in leadership and prodding the men to work.

Currently Val was at the area east of Westwatch where the timber was beginning to pile up. Asha had said that they didn’t have enough ships to transport the wood southwards along the Milkwater, but she had sent a letter as swiftly as possible to her spouse, Lord Jon, on an island called Pyke.

Val was given the task to command the Free Folk that came with new wood all the time and put it at the right place. Depending on the type, size and form it went to different locations on the giant areal. Some of what arrived was already timber, other’s brought half a tree. The stuff that wasn’t shippable yet had to be cut into shape.

Asha had asked her to make a list of all arriving goods, and Val had been forced to admit that she wasn’t able to do so. She couldn’t read the Common Tongue, although she could write her own name and knew the numbers. Her mother had educated her and Dalla who had learned it herself from her own mother.

The list and location map were made by her new assistant Lenn. The boy was a kneeler from an island called Harlaw, but Val liked him, nonetheless. He was a nice and even graciously given up his room for her. The young ‘Ironborn’ was always blushing when she would talk to him. That was a reaction that Val knew all to well. It had only worsened since her sister had been stolen by Mance. The Ironborn called the pregnant Dalla that would soon arrive the ‘Queen-beyond-the-Wall’ and had given herself the title of the ‘Free Folk Princess’.

Several of the man had even asked her to be their ‘salt wife’. Lenn had explained that they basically wanted to make her a second-rate lover, subservient to the ‘rock wife’ that had to come from the Ironborn’s homeland, the so-called Iron Islands. She had punched the last proposer in the face for all to see and probably broken the grizzly man’s nose. Since then no one had approached her anymore. Mance had given her a task and she couldn’t disappoint him and her people because she was distracted.

“So, Lenn, are you a future Lord?” Val asked. “You have the name of your main island, Pyke.”

“No, Lady Val. I am a noble bastard like my name says. My father is the younger brother of Lord Volmark though.”

“Bastard? What does that mean?” Val was puzzled now. She had heard the word before, but didn’t know what exactly it meant, some sort of insult for sure.

“Oh, a bastard is a child that is born from a man and a woman that aren’t married,” Lenn explained. “We bastards are excluded from the line of succession, only trueborn children from married parents inherit lands. Noble bastards from the Iron Islands receive the name Pyke.”

 _That’s ridiculous_ , was her first reaction and didn’t even try to supress a laugh.

“So your worth less because your mother and father didn’t do some fancy ritual?”

_These southern kneelers are slaves of their own making._

Lenn twitched around a bit and stayed silent, answering the question. After a few second the boy had pulled himself together, however. “Lady Val, you know that my Lord Jon is bastard, too! At least he was in the past…”

Val only lifted her eyes brow inquiringly. This backstory seemed interesting to know. She had heard a lot about ‘the White Wolf’ from Orad. The chieftain basically worshipped the man. Val could understand it to a point. His tribe had been given food and shelter by Asha’s husband when they had needed it the most. Now they lived better than ever before and even considered migrating to the Iron Islands themselves.

_How can proud Free Folk turn into kneelers so quickly...?_

“Yeah, Lord Jon isn’t even Ironborn,” Lenn told her excitedly. “He’s the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, a Northman. That’s also why his former name was Snow, like all noble bastards from the North.”

She still wasn’t quite sure what to think of making a deal with a man with the bloodline of the Kings in 'the North'. The Starks of Winterfell were a well-known name for the Free Folk and generally used in a negative context. The Stark lineage had slaughtered tens of thousands of Free Folk men, women and children over the millennia. Their forefather Brandon the Builder had even built the Wall.

“Why is he then Lord of the Iron Islands?” she asked. “And not a bastard anymore?”

“Wellllll…,” Lenn looked uncomfortable now. “Lady Asha’s father was Lord Balon Greyjoy. He crowned himself ‘King of the Iron Islands’ and therefore rebelled against King Robert Baratheon. The war was lost quickly and Lord Balon got executed. Then the King gave the Iron Islands to his best friend Lord Stark’s son baseborn son - both as an insult for us Ironborn and reward for the Starks. He also forced Lord Jon and Lady Asha to marry and ordered Lady Asha’s only surviving brother Theon sent to the Watch. I heard he run away though.”

_Oh._

Lenn had told her quite a story. It seemed like there was a lot more to the south than she had known. Val was curious now about the vast world the Free Folk was finally going to enter.

“And why is Lord Jon not a bastard anymore? How does that work?”

“That's easy! King Robert legitimized Lord Jon and he chose to name his new house ‘Torren’. That makes him and Asha Lord Jon and Lady Asha Torren of Pyke and the Iron Islands.”

Val couldn’t really understand what Lenn had told her. The customs of the kneelers were foreign to her.

Lenn began to speak again: “The fact that Lord Jon isn’t really an Ironborn, or that the King who defeated us so decisively and afterwards gave a bastard the rulership over all our lands…” The boy made a grim expression. “Lord Jon isn’t very popular with the Ironborn. He is a great man though! He really cares about his people.”

She was able to comprehend that. The Free Folk would never follow a man of the south though.

“Don’t worry,” Lenn spoke, picking up her doubts. “The Lord will honour the deal with you! Believe me!”

* * *

Val was sitting on the edge of the Bridge of Skulls in the afternoon with her legs dangling. The Free Folk weren’t allowed to pass over the bridge. On the other side dozens of crows were guarding a wooden gate to make sure of that.

All of a sudden, the white animal leaning against her stood up and looked far away, into the Gorge. The massive direwolf was towering over her. It seemed to be eager nonetheless with his tail swishing wildly around.

Ghost was the companion of the true ‘owner’ of Westwatch and according to Mother Mole bonded to a strong warg. She had easily concluded this had to be Asha’s spouse. Her expectations of him had risen a lot by now after everyone spoke so warmly of him.

Mance had said that there the magic in the south was dead, but apparently, her ‘good-brother’ was wrong.

She didn’t know why the animal was with her right now and had been a few times in the past. It was almost always shadowing Asha in the last few weeks.

Tormund Giantsbane had joked that it believed her to be a possible mate because she often dressed in white. In truth she simply loved the colour of the snow and weirwood since she was a child.

Orell, a skinchanger with an eagle, said that it was commonly seen that a bonded animal was close to its partner’s kin. Val was however absolutely sure that she wasn’t related to the Starks or Lord Jon’s mother, whoever she was.

She followed Ghost’s gaze and saw a minute later a longship appearing. It was followed by four others.

_This has to be the Jon._

The many vessels were surely coming to transport the wood away which meant that the man probably intended to honour the deal at least to a point.

While Ghost run away, surely to his favourite human, Val remained on the back and watched how the ships landed at the quay that had been extended over the last few weeks on Asha’s orders to speed up the loading on and allow more vessels to dock.

_Who is he?_

She tried to spot the man she had to meet to clarify that everything would happen as promised but Val was unable to find a stand-out. She guessed that he had to be quite young for a leader, probably around Asha's and her own age.

She lingered for a while to watch the sailors carry sacks of wheat off the boats. Food had been one of her growing worries. The hunters had to make longer and longer trips to find game. Fortunately, it seemed the issue had been solved for now.

Val walked to her room. It could only help her to look as beautiful a she could be for the best first impression possible. The southerners were known to be vain after all.

Once she had arrived, she heard loud yelling. It came from Asha’s chambers which was located above hers. The floor wasn’t very thick so she could hear almost all noises from above and below.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” It was a loud, clearly agitated male voice, although not very deep.

 _That must be Jon_ , was her immediate guess.

“I asked you to keep things working here and you run off to the actual King-beyond-the-Wall. Now _I_ have to clean up your fucking mess!”

“I don’t understand your problem, Jon.” That was clearly Asha’s voice, a bit louder than normal, too. “We need wood and I got it for us! Just like you wanted.” The woman seemed to get madder.

“But not like this! We didn’t have the storage capacities and enough transport ships when you made the deal!”

_Well, that sound like a big problem indeed._

“We do have it now though?”

“Aye, I offered some other Lords discounts and sale price shares for the wood they would transport,” the man replied, calmer now. “We are building massive roofs over the barren fields next to the Arsenal.”

“See, everything’s working out just fine.”

 _Oh-oh..._ This was exactly the wrong answer in Val's opinion.

Jon’s answer confirmed her belief. “Fine?! Why did you have to do it alone? Why not wait for me, the person who is actually in charge?”

“Why should I always ask you?!” Asha shrieked. It sounded like she was starting to cry. “I was here, and I made a decision! I don’t have to always go to you whenever I have a choice to make! I’m not some dim lady that is just supposed to bear as much as children as possible! I have my own dreams too!”

There was no answer. The silence was broken after a few moments by Asha’s sobs.

Val decided that she had heard more than she should have and left. Nevertheless she still picked up how Asha's man was now trying to calm his wife down.

_At least it’s better if he let all his anger out at her instead of me._

* * *

Val was called by Lenn to come to the solar late in the afternoon. Tormund was unfindable, so she had to represent Mance and the Free Folk alone.

When Val entered the chamber, she finally got her first look at Jon Torren who was seated behind the desk she had once seen use by Asha.

 _Young!_ That was her first reaction.

The man was barely older than Lenn himself. He had a lean build and a long face, with dark, brown hair and grey eyes so dark they almost seem black. The White Wolf was dressed in a grey tunic, dark brown breeches and boots. Apparent from his clothes, the cold didn’t seem to faze him too much.

Asha was leaning against the table to her husband’s left. She was trying to look casually and had a friendly expression on her face. It might have worked on her if Val hadn’t overheard her breaking down mere hours ago.

“Lady Val, I presume?” asked Lord Jon.

“I am no lady. We don’t have those Beyond-the-Wall. Just call me Val.”

“Alright, Val, call me Jon then,” the youth replied with a light smile.

_Hmm, he's pretty._

Val thought it was the best if they immediately came to the important point. “Will you honour the deal that your wife and Mance made?”

Jon didn’t even grimace. “Of course, I will. Asha was acting with my authority as long as I was gone.” He turned his head and smiled at Asha who surprisingly sent a honest one back.

 _That sounded quite different when you arrived…_ It seemed like the couple had been able to make up.

“So the terms stand as agreed?”

“Well,” Jon said, “I would like to formally settle all the points. From what I heard you only outlined the basics verbally, no?”

“Yes, I was there,” Val confirmed.

“Then we should write up a contract and both sign it,” came the suggestion from the man opposite of her.

“I can’t read.”

_And isn’t that embarrassing._

“Oh.”

The man probably thought of her as some uncivilized barbarian now, a common conception among southerners. At least he had the decency to blush from shame to not have predicted the issue.

Val decided, to give him an out. “Let’s just do it like this.”

“Aye. Have you decided where you want to settle?” Jon gestured to the table where a large map laid.

Val didn’t recognize anything in the depicted lines and words. There weren’t many maps Beyond-the-Wall.

“Mance is currently in the Valley of Thenn, trying to persuade the Thenns and other surrounding clans to come with us,” she answered. “He said that he will think about it until he arrives, whenever that is.”

“Well, if you want to go to Essos,” he pointed to the right edge of the map from her point of view, “then it would be smarter to depart from Hardhome or somewhere near on the eastern coast.”

She apparently didn’t give him the impression that she got what he was talking about, so Jon indicated two routes on the map to the right side with his finger. One of them was a line, the other a very long curve.

“I understand,” she told him truthfully. “We already decided to depart from here and everyone will slowly come to Westwatch. It will be hard to travel so far afterwards again to the other side of the land.”

“We could move them to Pyke and then overland to the eastern shore where we could pick them up again,” Asha suggested from the side.

Jon didn’t seem convinced, looking back down at the map. “The only viable destination would be the Bite. The Free Folk has to cross the Green Fork of the Trident then, at the Twins,” he explained, confusing Val with all the foreign locations. “Lord Walder Frey isn’t known for his hospitality. He would never let them pass. I don’t think any lord wants 100 thousand wildlings traversing through their lands.”

“Well, then we just have to make them stop on Pyke for a while. We can use the western shore without disrupting the smallfolk too much.”

“That would cost a lot, but it’s possible if we only move in smaller groups.”

Visiting the Iron Islands didn’t seem too bad to Val, so she agreed. She wanted to see as much of Westeros as possible until it was too late. It seemed like the Free Folk was going to move away from the ‘continent’ that had been their home for thousands of years.

Jon began to speak again. “Moving on, you decided on twenty-five thousand larger trees in timber, no?”

Val nodded.

“Well, this was the intended price for 80 thousand wildlings. I heard from Asha that it’s going to be 100 thousand now…”

What he said was true and she understood the southerner’s grievances. But five thousand or more trees were quite a sum. She wouldn’t just give up this easily.

“It was ninety thousand back then already, they just weren’t all at the camp,” she lied. It was at least partly true.

“Hmm, we want appropriate compensation anyway.”

Val already felt a bit of frustration but supressed it. It was better to keep a cool head now.

“And what do you want?” she almost snapped.

“Not more wood.”

That didn’t surprise Val. Jon had said to Asha that they weren’t ready for all the timber they had been promised to receive.

Then the man got some sort mad glint in his eyes. These _beautiful_ grey orbs were directly boring into her soul. “You don’t just want to move your people, do you? What about your animals, the goats and whatever else you have?”

_By the Gods._

She hadn’t thought about them, and didn’t believe that Mance had either. Val doubted they could just be moved per ship. Apparently, they could be on the large waters for several weeks. The logical choice would to butcher most of them before the departure for their meat.

“That’s my price. I want at least half of your herding animals…” He leaned forward. “And I want all the mammoths and giants…”

Val tried to remain calm despite the youth's outrageousness. “I can’t speak for the giants and the majority of the mammoths. Most of them are herded by the giants. Talk to Mag the Mighty. He’s basically their chieftain and somewhere near. The rest should be alright as long we have enough meat for ourselves, I guess.”

Val didn’t tell Jon that he needed an interpreter to negotiate with Mag. The giants only spoke the Old Tongue after all which had been forgotten by the kneelers.

_The embarrassment will serve him right!_

“I don’t have a problem with counting the ironwood three times. I am a believer in the Old Gods like you. Therefore I am surprised that you are willing to give up weirwood...”

He made a very serious impression on her. This seemed to be important for him as well.

Thankfully, Val had expected the topic to come up and an answer prepared. “What we give you isn’t from freshly cut down trees. We would never do that. Those are mostly our storages the clans have built up over generations. We can’t bring them with us except for the smaller pieces. Part of it might be petrified because it’s so old.”

“How much is it?” Asha asked eagerly. Val noticed Jon’s sharp look to his woman.

“We will only give you the bigger parts we have as long as you don’t defile them. We have a lot of stories about the Andals burning weirwood trees… Combined it will maybe number between twenty to forty larger trees. It’s hard to say, I am just guessing.”

Jon nodded with a sullen expression. “Asha agreed to let weirwood count fiftyfold. I am willing to let it count a hundred times of the same size of common timber. It must hurt you to leave the Old Gods behind…”

That prompted a true smile from her. It seemed that this man was actually quite a good fellow in the end.

_He really seems to want the best for the Ironborn, just like I for my people._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many people apparently think Asha is out of character. If you think so you might want to reread the last five chapters.


	21. Somber Tidings (Jon XVI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recieves words of dead men rising.

Jon was still tired in the morning after his arrival at Westwatch. The day before had taken quite a lot of energy from him. Asha's emotional breakdown was still a bit mysterious - it just didn't fit her usual boldness at all. Apparently, she felt supressed even though he had tried to make sure that she always held a position of authority. She had been the one in charge of the public duties on Pyke and he had given her command of Westwatch while he was away. It was hard to give her even more power without cutting into his own significantly. Until now he had thought that they made a rather good team.

Asha hadn’t even shared the bed with him last night, having moved somewhere else without a word after their talk with Val. Jon didn’t fault her though and was confidentthat she would soon be back again as her usual self. He had seen that Ghost was with her too, so he wasn’t very worried about the Ironborn. He had left Blueberry in the warmer Pyke.

Maron had visited a few days ago and asked for a meeting between him and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont at the Shadow Tower. The father of Ser Jorah who had knighted Jon during his fostering on Bear Island wanted to talk about the Free Folk that was now living in- and outside of Westwatch.

“I am coming with you.”

Just when he was trying to go through the south-eastern gate, which was now known as the ‘Bridge Gate’ he suddenly heard a voice, somehow both soft and stern at the same time.

It was Val, completely in white again and seemingly unarmed. She was the leader of the approximately four thousand Free Folk nearby and the good-sister to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. She was beautiful woman, and didn’t fit the common image of a wildling at all. She had left a capable impression in him the day before, although he had been a bit distracted by Asha.

It probably would help to discuss the situation with her people with the one in charge present, so he didn’t argue and just walked over the bridge towards the wooden guard post of the Night’s Watch. The gate was closed.

“Hey! No wildling pack allowed here!” The exclamation came from the top of the palisade.

“I am Lord Torren,” Jon replied loudly, so his word could be heard despite the wind. “Lord Commander Mormont asked for me, the woman is one of the wildling leaders. She will always be with me!”

“We are the Free Folk, please call us such.”

Jon ignored Val’s unnecessary comment and they both waited in silence.

After around half a minute the gate opened a bit. Jon slipped through the gap, Val behind him. The black brothers present looked at Val with obvious mistrust, but didn’t say anything and let them pass uncontested.

Jon observed Val during their slow trip. The woman looked around trying to take in everything she could.

“Have you never been south of the Wall before?”

“I have,” the blond woman responded, “but only twice a few years ago. I am not much into the raiding. The Free Folk can live without needing to leech of your people.”

Jon wasn’t quite so sure about that. He had believed the same about the Ironborn in the past but after his short stay in Pyke and the situation with Lord Dunstan he was now more convinced that the thirst of battle was just a natural part of men. The Ironborn were just more honest about it with raiding as an important part of their culture. The men of the mainland, primarily from the south, hid their inner instinct in hunting for sport and tourneys.

Val spoke up again: “Do you have somewhere in mind where we can settle?”

_Careful now._

Jon obviously had an idea, but he didn’t want to force his wish on her. He just had to be convincing.

“Well, remaining on Westeros will not be an option. There is enough free land in the North, but the Lords will never agree to live besides you… That basically only leaves Essos in the east. It’s a vast land, no one even know where it ends. The western half of it is dominated by slavers-”

“Good!” Val interrupted him. “We will kill them and take their lands then!”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. He appreciated her enthusiasm, but had to answer seriously, so the woman would understand the situation. “No, they would overwhelm you in months. The daughters of Valyria, the men of Slaver’s Bay and the Dothraki hordes would crush you like a worm.”

That resulted in a short silence while they stubbornly walked along the small road. By now, they had passed the beginning of the Wall.

“So, we should go even farther east?” asked Val.

“A possibility, but we can’t transport you all so far. It would be a journey of several months…”

Val turned her head to him. “Where do you want us to go then? Certainly you have an idea, you seem to be rather smart.”

Jon hoped he didn't blush. He did not often receive praise from pretty women. Despite her ignorance of the world beyond her homeland, the beautiful spearwife – he assumed she was one – was sharp. Jon thought it was probably the best to go with the honest route now.

“Well, there are the Stepstones…”

“Never heard of them.”

“Let's start with their creation then. Millenia ago Westeros and Essos were connected through the Arm of Dorne to the south. The First Man, our shared ancestors, came over it and waged war with the Children of the Forest and the giants.”

“Oh, I knew the tales of the war. The children and men made a pact for peace.” Val seemed almost excited.

“Exactly. But during the war the children used their strongest magic, the Hammer of the Waters to shatter the Arm of Dorne, so that not more men could come to Westeros. The islands that are called the Stepstones are what’s left of the land bridge.”

“Why would we live on islands? The Free Folk lives mostly of the forests and mountains, not the sea.” Val did not seem very charmed by his suggestion. 

_That’s actually a good point… Maybe the idea isn’t as feasible as I thought._

“But...,” Val continued, “we are also adaptable, and the cannibals of the ice-river clans, the Tusks and Antlers of the Frozen Shore and many tribes that lived along the Milkwater and its tributaries are mainly fishers. We could live from the waterlife.”

Jon smiled. He wasn’t very sure about the _cannibals_ , but the other groups could definitely find a stable footing on some of the islands in the southern Narrow Sea.

Soon they arrived at the Shadow Tower. Val tried to act like nothing was out of the ordinary for her, but Jon saw how impressed she was by the massive structure.

“What can we expect?” Val asked, obviously questioning about the nature of the coming meeting.

“I doubt that the Watch will appreciate your presence. The animosity goes out from both sides. Let me talk and observe.”

“Could they forbid our deal?”

Jon shook his head to assure her. “No, I don’t think so. Westwatch is my castle and I can do what I please there. They might try to do it regardless.”

He approached one of the men that was currently standing next to the gate to the courtyard.

“I am here to meet Lord Commander Mormont. Could you lead me to him?”

The man seemed hesitant. Jon looked at his expression and found his gaze to focused on Val. She was a beautiful woman and the man was surely very lonely. Jon fished a bag of coin from his pocket, took a stag out and presented it to the man. The silver shine woke him up.

“Right here, follow me, my Lord…and Lady.”

* * *

Jon hadn’t met the Lord Commander before, but the imposing figure with broad-shoulders and a stern gaze that he saw sitting behind Ser Denys Mallister’s desk fitted his imagination of him rather well. He had lost most of his hair save for his shaggy grey-white beard. The blood connection to both Ser Jorah and Lady Maege was still visible to him, nevertheless. The man was unsurprisingly dressed in black, just like Ser Denys standing to his left.

“You are Jon, I suppose?” asked the Lord Commander. “Maege… and Jorah have written me a lot about you.”

The man had made a pained grimace when he talked about his exiled son. Jeor Mormont had been the head of House Mormont and Lord of Bear Island until he abdicated his seat in favour of Ser Jorah and joined the Night's Watch only shortly before Robert’s Rebellion.

Jon sympathized with the man. The Lord Commander had surely been even more devasted by the news of Ser Jorah’s dishonourable actions than he himself who had always looked up to the man who had trained and knighted him.

“Indeed, Lord Commander,” he replied.

“And who is this?” asked Ser Denys harshly. “That’s a wildling, ha!”

Jon wanted to introduce Val herself, but the woman had apparently decided to ignore his instructions. She had an honest smile on her face and used a friendly tone. “My name is Val, honourable brothers of the Night’s Watch. I am an ambassador of Mance Rayder, my good-brother.”

That silenced both the Lord Commander and Ser Denys for a few seconds. For once not because of her beauty. It was mainly the reveal of her connection the King-beyond-the Wall, clearly planned by the spearwife.

Jon decided to bring the topic quickly away from Val’s identity.

“Val is only here to listen. I thought it was better if one of the leaders of the,” he glanced over to Val, “Free Folk.”

The Lord Commander had composed himself swiftly. “Yes, the wildlings are on the main reason we wanted to talk to you. We can’t do much what you do on _your_ land, but their numbers are beginning to worry us. They are right at our doorstep after all.”

The distaste of the man of Castle Black over Jon’s acquisition of Westwatch was impossible to miss. Jon also understood his concern. The Bridge of Skulls was easy to defend and collapsible, but it was still seizable in a surprise attack.

“The Free Folk will not make a move to cross into the North,” Jon tried to assure the two old men. “We instead make a deal to transport them into new lands, probably in Essos, definitely not in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Ser Denys didn’t look impressed. The Lord Commander tilted his head a bit, seemingly thinking. “Hmm, my sister thinks of you as an honourable man,” he said in his gruff voice. “She writes that I can trust you.”

Jon barely managed to contain his glee. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

The Lord Commander looked at Val. “How many are you?” he asked directly.

Val answered calmly: “Up to 100 thousand, almost our entire population.”

“We can’t allow that, Jeor,” said Ser Denys unamused. “That’s against our vows!”

The Lord Commander didn’t reply and looked to be lost in thought. Eventually he spoke up again while staring into Val’s eyes. “Why are you leaving? Why now?”

“The Others are coming. The dead are coming.” Val’s tone was as serious as it was shocking for Jon.

_The what?_

Old Nan had told them of the Others, of course. How the Ancient Hero had defeated them, who was possibly a Stark himself, maybe even the first Stark. That the Free Folk gave the women they steal from the Seven Kingdoms to the Others, and they laid with the Others during the Long Night to birth half-human children. He always thought all of them to be children’s tales, like everyone else.

_But I thought wargs and skinchangers weren’t real too._

It was still hard to accept Val's claim.

“Half a year ago,” the Lord Commander explained, apparently unsurprised, “I was attacked in the night by two of my rangers. They were dead for sure, corpses, when they arrived. In the night they rose and almost managed to kill me…” The man was holding his right hand to his left side now. “Their blue eyes still wake me in the night…”

“Wights,” Val responded swiftly. “They are the dead brought back to live, to eternally serve the Others.”

“So that’s what you are running from,” the Lord Commander concluded.

_The dead… huh…_

Jon himself had only stood there during their conversation, frozen. Ser Denys was silent as well, clearly in a similar state.

“Can you give us any proof?” Ser Denys asked, and voiced Jon’s thoughts.

Val sneered and lifted her upwards until her index finger pointed directly at the ceiling. “Do you really think,” she asked, “that you built and guarded a giant wall of ice for eight thousand years because of me and my kin?”

_Good point._

“We wanted past the Wall originally and were planning to attack you at Castle Black,” Val continued, “but fleeing over the sea with Jon’s ships here is probably even better.”

The two black brothers didn’t argue that. They didn’t even grimace after the blonde revealed the Free Folk’s original plan. All three men present knew how few men the Watch currently had, and how dire their state was.

The Lord Commander righted himself up. “Good, you are allowed to proceed then. That’s my verdict as Lord Commander of the Wall. I have already sent one of my knights to King’s Landing with a hand of one of the wights that attacked me. It’s still twitching…”

Jon had made his opinion as well. Val wasn’t a liar and the Lord Commander wasn’t either. Their tales had to be true. The White Walkers were really coming back.

“I will write a letter as well,” he said, breaking up the tense silence. “My Father is Hand of the King after all. He will believe me.”

He then glanced at the faces of everyone in the room, trying to guess their thoughts. The Lord Commander looked grim, he seemed to take the situation serious. Ser Denys’ expression was puzzled, like the commander of the Shadow Tower wasn’t sure what to believe, a feeling that Jon could understand all too well. Val flashed a smile at him, and was without a doubt the most beautiful smile, the most beautiful sight even, Jon had ever seen, lightening up the dark mood in the chamber.

* * *

When Val and Jon returned in a glooming silence, they were received by Lenn at the Bridge Gate. Asha wanted to see him urgently in their room in the Lord’s Tower.

They both went to there immediately with Val vanishing into her own room.

Asha lay on the new bed in a light grey tunic and barefoot. She just gestured to the desk while looking at him. Jon saw an opened letter and picked it up.

_Jon,_

_Lord Varys told me, that you have made a deal with Mance Rayder and that you promised to bring his wildlings south of the Wall._

_I can’t believe that I have to tell you how worried I am over your these actions. Bringing the wildlings south will focus the anger of the entire North on you. As a Lord of Winterfell and the North myself I cannot just accept your decision._

_In my position as Hand of the King I hereby forbid the trade or any other form of deal with the wildlings from now. All existing agreements are void. The small council has voted for this decision unanimously._

_I hope you can explain your thoughts and reasons why you are currently doing what you do._

_I heard about your arrangement with a smaller tribe and uttered not my worries because I wished to respect the way you have chosen for yourself, your lands and your people. I still believe that you are able to change the Iron Islands for the better._

_But what you are doing now isn’t explainable. Wood is important, but not to this degree. I am willing to lower or even excuse you from certain taxes on the timber trade with the North as a compensation._

_You are still young and have many years before you. I feel like you are obsessed with getting results as fast as you can. There is no point in rushing your ideas and projects you surely have. It will probably bite you back in the end._

_Your Father,_

_Eddard Stark,_

_Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King_

Jon put the letter down again with his hands shaking from anger.

_I can’t fucking believe this._

“What now?” Asha asked from the side.

Jon turned to her and tried to calm himself down. He had already let out his anger at her yesterday with disastrous consequences. He was still unsure how he had managed to calm down his crying wife.

After a lengthy period of silence he spoke. “He doesn’t know our reasons, and he doesn’t know that we won’t bring them south of the Wall permanently, but far away.”

What hurt the most was that Father apparently didn’t trust him enough. He was young, sure, but he had prepared himself for his Lordship for the majority of his life.

“Sooo, we ignore a direct order of the Hand of the King?”

“Yeah,” he replied decisively, “we ignore it.”

He couldn’t tell Asha about the Others and the dead. He still hadn’t completely accepted it himself, and a few doubts still remained. His spouse didn’t have the magical background that he had as an actual warg, a skinchanger even. She was unlikely to believe him - with good reason. Maybe he also didn't wish to burden her with all this confusing knowledge, and did not want to scare Asha with his talents when their marriage was already so strained.

Lord Commander Mormont had apparently already sent a man with a ‘living’ hand to King’s Landing. Jon himself would also write a letter for his Father, and a second one to Winterfell, so his brother could send a few men to the Wall as support.

He eventually decided to break the uncomfortable silence with another topic that weighted on his mind.

“We should talk about yesterday.”

“Hmmm.” Asha frowned. She was likely ashamed of her own conduct.

Jon let her time to make up an answer. It lasted for an entire minute.

“I’m with child.”

“Oh.”

Jon didn’t know how to react, feeling a bit numb.

_At least this explains her outburst._

Asha suddenly pulled off her tunic.

“I should be close to halfway point, see?” she said, caressing her swollen and bare stomach.

The bump was impossible to oversee.

 _How did I fucking miss that?!_ Jon scolded himself silently.

Asha had told him that she wouldn’t take any moon tea anymore half a year ago. He probably should have picked it up before he left for Pyke, three months ago, though he didn’t know when his seed had actually taken hold.

“You will leave for Pyke,” was his first cohesive reply after the reveal. “It’s too cold here for you and the child.”

Asha didn’t seem happy, but she also didn’t contradict him. She likely expected this arrangement already.

Therefore Jon tried to cheer her up a bit. “You can help Rodrik to prepare everything for the first batch of the Free Folk, okay? You can observe the proceedings on Blacktyde and the Arsenal too.”

That got at least a small smile from her.

In the end Jon just laughed, only slowly did he start to realize what Asha's news actually meant. Jon went to Asha and hugged her softly. He even kissed her on the forehead which caused his wife to blush and hide her face in his chest.

One of his biggest dreams was coming true. Having a real family of his own, completely whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asha's pregnancy was apparently not obvious enough. There were hints:
> 
> Chapter 16: “By the way, my moon tea is all gone from today onwards.”
> 
> Chapter 17: The ascension of the first mountain already exhausted Asha. Everyone else seemed just fine which hurt her pride quite a bit.
> 
> Chapter 19: Most often the direwolf was shadowing Asha though, almost always if it wasn't with Val. [...] Asha shrieked. It sounded like she was starting to cry.


	22. Storm on the Horizon (Asha III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from King's Landing heralds a new age in Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins a new arc and the third great part of the story.

Asha and her _Black Wind_ left Westwatch in the same week. She would travel with an entire convoy of ships that transported timber from Bear Island southwards. Before her departure she had been approached by Val.

 _What is her obsession with white? She does not have the attitude of a maiden._ Asha also was completely convinced that the woman wasn’t one.

“Congratulations!” Val exlaimed and lightly gestured at Asha’s lower half that was hidden behind a dark cloak, pinned together at the front.

It wouldn’t do Asha any good to show off her pregnancy. It was hard enough to achieve the level of respect of the Ironborn that she had worked for her the last decade. She couldn’t risk throwing it all away by reminding them of her ‘gentle sex’.

She appreciated Val’s honest words, nevertheless.

“Thank you. How did you know?”

“Hmm, the floors and walls in the tower aren’t exactly soundproof, you know,” Val answered with a grin.

Asha quickly tried to remember what else she had done in the room. All the tumbles with Jon, in the later months they had been rather loud. Lenn had been the room’s inhabitant before Val, useful because of his position. She wasn’t feeling ashamed though. It was a natural part of life after all.

“I hope you will bring a healthy child to the world,” Val continued. “My sister Dalla is also expecting.”

Asha knew that, even though she hadn’t talked to Mance Rayder’s wife personally. She had only received a glimpse at Val’s older sibling.

“Do you also want a child?” she asked the Free Folk woman. Asha herself had not, but duty was duty. She also couldn’t deny that she cared for the babe. It seemed her motherly instincts had awoken.

Val shrugged. “Hmm, I haven’t found myself the right man yet. He would need to be very strong to steal me…or get stolen by me.”

That gave Asha an idea, one she had already entertained a bit in its basics in the past.

“You could steal Jon, I won’t mind. Don’t your people say that a man or woman of the Free Folk can take as many partners as he can handle?”

She wasn't eager to be rid of her husband, but Jon tended to be rather clingy. Asha didn’t consider herself to be in love, but he was becoming very dear to her. She wasn’t scared of Val as competition for herself or the child inside her. The spearwife didn’t seem to be of the power-hungry sort and Asha's blood was the only reason Jon could hold his title without constantly fearing betrayal. Exactly like a salt wife should be. Jon was the Lord of the Iron Islands. He should, no, he had to embrace their culture much more. A salt wife would surely weaken the sentiments against him. The same sentiments would also taint his children, Asha's or not.

The widening of Val's light grey eyes revelaed her surprise. It was apparently not usual to offer one’s own spouse to another woman.

“He is too young,” Val eventually replied.

Asha just nodded. “It’s your decision. He won’t come for you himself for sure. I don’t want him to worry for me, the child and the work here all the time. You would do him well.”

* * *

Asha landed at the Ten Towers after a rather tumultuous journey. Never before had she thrown up on a ship, but during the last two weeks she had either lain in her room, completely exhausted, or bent over the railing.

She had already decided to never have a child again, no matter the gender of the first.

They had left their convoy of twenty ships at Blacktyde where Lord Baelor was making a list, noting down all the wares that arrived. It would later be compared with the one made in Westwatch and Bear Island to find out who had foolishly tried to cheat them.

She hadn’t written a letter Jon about her pregnancy because he was destined to meet her at Westwatch and receive the news timely all the same. A message for her Mother had however been sent over two months ago.

Mother was already waiting on the docks with a big smile. The moment she had crossed the plank, Asha was engulfed in a tight hug.

“Oh, Asha! You can’t believe how happy I am. You are going to be a wonderful mother. I just know it!”

_Eeeeh…_

She was already tired of all her fussing after not even a minute. Jon had been much the same. He had even promised to be there for the birth which at least warmed her heart a bit. He would take the first group of the Free Folk with him, sooner than actually planned.

_Can I really endure this for three more months?_

She doubted it.

* * *

Asha had originally planned to continue her duties as Lady of the Iron Islands and Pyke until the birth, but she had given up after a month and returned to the Ten Towers. She was feeling tired all the time and mood swings hit her randomly. Uncle Rodrik just continued as he had done before. The Lord of Harlaw had been overjoyed from the state of his niece when she had told him her that she would deliver the babe to the world in the castle where she grew up, leading Asha to throw the goblet of water that had been in her hand at the time at him.

Over the last weeks they had prepared two large areas for the Free Folk, one of them in the western half of Pyke, the other in the south-west of Harlaw, next to the Iron Arsenal. It would help them a lot to settle the more competent of the tribes down there to work at the giant shipyard. Jon had already decreed to Orad that his Hornfoots would be allowed to live there. It wasn’t a bad idea for the men and women had become rather able after they had worked over half a year under Ironborn leadership. The biggest of the Free Folk as workers were their low demands. The risk of heightened crime had to be considered, nevertheless. It was a good thing the Iron Arsenal was built rather isolated, keeping the bigger troublemakers from Beyond-the-Wall away from the smallfolk.

Pyke, especially Lordsport, was looking greater than it had ever before. Lord Botley had used the gold he had already received from the increased trade and northern timber to expand the harbour area. Additionally, he had replaced the dirty paths with roads of cobblestone or gravel.

By now you could glimpse several ships from the Westerlands, the Riverlands and the Reach. It was a far cry from the main ports of Westeros, the near Lannisport completely dwarfing the lively trouble that happened here daily, but it was a good start, nevertheless.

There were actually quite a few banners of House Torren to see, hanging from poles all over the city-to-be, from the shore up to the hill of the castle Pyke, and many houses of the smallfolk. Jon had seemingly become very popular on his personal island for his actions in his first year. Asha remembered her husband telling her that Maester Qualen had proposed to distribute their new coat-of-arms as much as possible near the castle of Pyke to amplify her family’s grasp on their closest vassals. It was apparently a very common practice on the mainland.

* * *

In the middle of the seventh month Rodrik rushed into Asha’s room in the Great Tower above the Great Hall where she rested alone on the bed, his hair uncharacteristically tousled. Asha sat herself up and the man immediately pressed an opened letter into her hand. Something was written in fancy red letters on the light yellow paper.

“From King’s Landing. Read!” He ordered her in a serious tone.

_Lords of the Iron Islands,_

_His Grace King Robert Baratheon the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm has entered the Seven Heavens peacefully in his sleep during the 10 th night of the seventh month in the year 299 after Aegon’s Conquest_

_All hail to his oldest son and heir, the former Crown Prince of Dragonstone, His Grace King Joffrey Baratheon the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. Long may He reign!_

_All Lord and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, big and small, are hereby ordered to come to King’s Landing to swear fealty to their new liege on the Iron Throne._

_Until His Grace reaches the age of majority in less than two and a half years, the Queen Regent Cersei Lannister will rule the realm in her son’s name_

_King Robert’s Hand of the King Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and brother Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, attempted to use the time of confusion and mourning after King Robert’s death to steal the rightful crown of King Joffrey. Their coup failed on every length._

_Eddard Stark has been imprisoned as traitor and awaits his judgment in the Black Cells._

_Renly Baratheon has fled the capital._

_Considering Eddard Starks undoubtful treachery the legitimization and titles of his natural son Jon Snow, formerly Torren, graciously given by the late King Robert are hereby revoked by His Grace’s order. Jon Snow is to be delivered to King's Landing or Casterly Rock to face the King's Justice because of his continued involvement with the wildlings, directly disregarding King Robert's explicit orders. His deliverer will be richly rewarded._

_The Iron Islands shall from now on be integrated into the Westerlands under the rule of Lord Tywin Lannister, the Warden of the West and new Hand of the King, and his future successors._

_The Lordship of Pyke is granted to Lord Victarion Greyjoy as the late Lord Balon’s oldest remaining male heir._

_Signed,_

_Queen Regent_

_Cersei Lannister_

“This is madness!” Asha shrieked and promptly ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the pieces away from her afterwards.

_No, no, no! Why now?_

She caressed her swollen belly, inside a child that was apparently not to inherit anything with a father destined for the executioner's block. Maester Qualen had said at Pyke that it would arrive in approximately six weeks. With Jon's legitimization revoked her child would bear the surname Snow according to the general cutstom.

_Can a King even revoke the legitimization of a previous one? It didn't happen for the Blackfyres..._

“Quite so, dear niece, quite so,” Uncle Rodrik said in a calm tone which only inflamed her temper once more.

“What the fuck! Fucking Lannister cunts! Fucking Eddard Stark! Kyaaaaah!”

After she had exhausted her energy by giving her rage a voice loud enough for all in the Ten Towers to hear, Rodrik gave her a hug.

“Do you know what this means, Asha?”

“Hmmm?”

_It means everything went to shit!_

At least she hadn’t started to cry again. The first time had been embarrassing enough.

“Robb Stark and Renly Baratheon will surely call their banners if they haven’t already,” Rodrik explained. “The Riverlands and the Vale will follow them. This means war.”

“And why should I care?” Asha didn’t understand, she was still a bit numb from her new situation.

“The majority Ironborn already had a hard time accepting Jon as their new foreign Lord. One of the biggest reasons the nobles didn’t chase Jon away was that his heir would have been a Greyjoy in all but name and that he received a lot of support of the more peaceful Lords like me. Lord Tywin doesn’t have that and the rivalry between the Ironborn and the Lannisters is probably even stronger than with the Starks. A future half-Lannister King was already a serious imposition for the more traditional men.”

_Makes sense, I guess._

“What do you think should happen then?”

Rodrik seemed uncertain, but eventually he gave his opinion. “We should declare for Renly. Everything looks like he is destined for the Iron Throne. He will likely have at least four of the kingdoms behind him, maybe even all except the Westerlands depending on the Tyrell’s ambition and the Martell’s thirst for revenge. I do not see a world where the Lannisters are able to defend the Iron Throne right now.”

_No…_

“No.” Asha was surprised by her own resolution. “The Iron Islands will never bow down to the mainlanders again.”

“You don’t mean?”

_I do mean it._

“Yes, this is the time for us. Please contact Uncle Aeron,” she ordered confidently. “He should call for a Kingsmoot… in two months.”

A Kingsmoot would be the only possibility to find an accepted ruler of the Iron Islands now. Even though Uncle Victarion was a respected man, many would not acknowledge his abrupt and unjustified appointment to the Lordship of Pyke, Asha included. She was still Balon’s heir by right, her brothers all dead or in exile.

_Kingsmoot? Why not a Queensmoot? My Queensmoot!_

She would have delivered her child in two months, ready to lead the Iron Islands to the grand future they deserved. Asha already imagined the future. She, Queen Asha Greyjoy, the ruler of the Iron Islands, with Jon as her King Consort and their child as heir, securing a generational alliance by blood with the North and in the best case the Riverlands and the Vale too.

Eventually she snapped out of her daydreams and turned to her uncle. His expression showed uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure what to think right now.

“If we really declare a new King of the Iron Islands…,” he said slowly. “Then there is now way back. If we fail than everything since your father rose in rebellion himself is at a high risk to be undone. I would not be surprised if the Lannisters, or Baratheons, will try to curtail the power and freedom of our people for all time, so we might ever rise up a third time. I think we should really reconsider this.”

“Sent a letter to Jon with the fastest ship we have, so he can come here as fast as possible.”

“Of course, I will arrange it. He might want to bid for the crown himself.”

Asha wasn’t so sure about that. Jon was loyal to his family. He definitely would want to join his brother Robb to rescue his father. Her husband didn’t have any chance to be chosen as the new ruler of the Ironborn, although he had been the previous one and done an acceptable job, as long as you ignored that it was mostly Uncle Rodrik that handled the actual government tasks.

* * *

Asha travelled to Pyke herself in the end despite her condition. Her remaining uncles on the Iron Islands, Victarion and Aeron, had agreed to meet in the Great Hall in Pyke before the Seastone Chair.

When she arrived, both the leader of the drowned man and the Captain of the Iron Fleet were present. Lord Botley and Lord Wynch were there, too, probably curious about the future and its consequences of their current

“Asha,” Uncle Aeron bellowed, hugging her lightly to not endanger the child. “I am so happy to see you, in these trying times.”

“Have you heard the news?” she asked.

“Everyone has,” Lord Botley said. “The people are uneasy, both the smallfolk and the nobles, including me.”

Lord Wynch didn’t look happy either. “Tywin fucking Lannister, what a fucking cunt. The man rules with terror and an iron fist. He will never let us continue building up our wealth, it would endanger the Rock’s dominance on the western coast.”

Asha turned to her uncle Victarion. They weren’t very close, and the man had kept himself out of Jon’s way since he had arrived, mostly by raiding in the Stepstones and the nearby waters. It had been better so, for the seasoned captain was a rather dumb brute. Asha didn’t respect him much despite them being close kin.

“And you Uncle, what do you think, _Lord of Pyke_.” She made her disdain obvious about the newly redistributed title.

Victarion grimaced, even though that was one of his most common expressions.

“Hmmm.” That was his only comment.

Asha could understand his angle at least somewhat. The man had been lucky to survive the aftermath of her father’s failed rebellion. The late King Robert had wanted to wipe out all male Greyjoys for good, but according to Rodrik his Hand and foster father Lord Jon Arryn had handled the punishment of the Ironborn prisoners. Victarion and Aeron had to swear on the Drowned God and the Seven to never claim the Seastone Chair for themselves or their descendants. They were both very pious, Aeron especially of course, so Asha had never worried much about the two.

Now, the man was at least nominally the Lord of Pyke, without a doubt a plot of the Lions to placate Lord Tywin’s supremacy over the Iron islands. She could not believe that Victarion or the other Ironborn were _that_ dumb, however.

Eventually she decided to break the silence. “We have to decide what to do now,” she said loudly while walking to the big black chair at the end of the giant chamber where she sat down.

_This fucking babe, I hope you come out as soon as possible…_

Her back was already killing her after the short trip up the hill from the docks.

“And what are our options?” Lord Botley asked.

“Bowing to the Lannisters is not an option,” she declared which earned her nods from both Lord Wynch and Victarion. Their reactions pleased Asha quite a lot.

“My uncle, the Reader, wants us to join Renly who will surely declare for the Iron Throne soon.” Lord Botley nodded this time. “Well… I say piss on that!” she continued. “This is the time we, the Ironborn, have been waiting for! Father wasn’t able to wait and therefore ruined the lives of his vassals and his own family, me included. I believe it’s time to use our recovered strength to get the Drowned God the level of respect from the mainlanders he rightly deserves!”

She was getting fired up, by her own pre-prepared speech. Victarion, Lord Botley and Lord Wynch weren’t as enthusiastic as she had hoped. Aeron however was smiling, and he was the most important man in the man right now.

_It surely was the part about the Drowned God._

She moved her gaze to him. “Uncle, please call a Kingsmoot, so we can find the captain that can lead us in this glorious future.”

_Me._

“Aye!” That was Victarion who quickly gave his brother a hard clap on the back as encouragement while laughing deeply.

Uncle Aeron barely managed to not land on the floor face first. He had a bewildered expression but got himself under control fast.

“I shall! This is surely our time! The Drowned God demands it!” The ragged man decreed. “It shall happen in three moons, so even the Farmans of the Lonely Light and the Ironborn on sea are able to attend!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had Cersei announcing Lord Victarion as the new Lord of the Iron Islands, but I thought that Tywin made a lot more sense with all her Lannisters pride. The integration of the Iron Islands was Cersei's own idea and not Tywin's. This was also lightly foreshadowed in Chapter 4 and 5.
> 
> Please be concious fo the fact that Asha in this chapter is highly pregnant. She already suffered from a small inferiority complex. The hormons of the last trimester, the stress and the damning situation turn this characeristic into a light hubris.
> 
> Keep in mind too, that Asha was likely to win the Kingsmoot in AFFC until Euron arrived with all his gold, promises and Dragonbinder.
> 
> I decided to not show the events in King's Landing. The basic result is the same for Eddard, Robert and Renly. I do not feel that the butterfly effect has affected the characters of the main actors in the capital too much. The exact details however have changed. I won't show it directly to keep up you guessing (and give myself room for future plot points).


	23. A Troubled Youth (Jon XVII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recieves the urgent news from the Iron Islands.

Jon was sitting behind his work desk in his room, solely occupied by him now. He had been organizing the transportation of wood and men for the Iron Islands for more than an hour already.

Asha had written that their child would arrive in four weeks, so he was preparing everything for the departure in a few days. His convoy would also be transporting the first group of the Free Folk southwards.

Lenn then entered with a letter and put it ahead of Jon on the desk.

“A letter from Harlaw, the captain said its extremely urgent.”

_Asha? Has something happened?_

His thought immediately went to his wife and the unborn child.

Jon quickly tried opened the letter, inside were two papers of different colours, one was grey, the other yellowish. Both scripts were written neatly. Neither crossed-out words nor ink stains were spottable. He recognized handwriting in the grey letter as Rodrik’s, so he read it first.

_Jon,_

_I hope this message arrives timely._

_All greater Lords of the Iron Islands received a letter from King’s Landing. I have sent mine with this one._

_King Robert is dead._

_Your father, Lord Stark, has been imprisoned by the Lannisters. Apparently, he attempted to crown the King’s only remaining brother, Lord Renly Baratheon, instead of Crown Prince Joffrey who now sits on the Iron Throne._

_Renly Baratheon has fled and is currently on the run. If he lives, he will certainly try to claim the Throne by force._

_Your titles and legitimization have been revoked officially on King Joffrey’s orders, or more likely on the new Queen Regent Cersei’s._

_Lord Tywin Lannister has been announced as the new Lord of the Iron Islands which are supposed to be integrated into the Westerlands with Victarion Greyjoy as Lord of Pyke._

_Asha is mad and intents to convince her uncle Aeron to call for a Kingsmoot. I am sure she will succeed. The Lannisters are even more hated by the Ironborn than the Starks._

_I do not know what you plan to do, although I am confident you will arrive for the birth of the child on Pyke. We can talk then. I will be awaiting you in Ten Towers. The Iron Arsenal should be safe for now._

_Be careful, the Lannisters have put a bounty on you, officially because your association with the wildlings, unofficially because you are a threat on their doorstep._

_Your uncle,_

_Rodrik_

Jon set the letter back down, frozen from what he had read.

“My Lord?” Lenn asked cautiously.

“Get out!”

Jon was shaking, feeling a mixture of shock, worry and anger. He needed time to think now.

_What to do? How could the situation deteriote so quickly?_

He couldn’t manage to calm himself like he was able to do normally in situations in which he was confronted with a serious issue.

_What are the upsides?_

Asha and the child were alright. Those were actually the most important things right now. Everything else was secondary.

Jon didn’t know what his wife was planning but considering she was smart and clearly cared for their shared progeny it probably wouldn’t go against him. She had no need to take his Lordship considering that he had already lost it, more or less. King Robert - and Father - had been his greatest backers. Now the first one was dead and the second was imprisoned for treason with his punishment likely being the Wall. He himself didn’t have a chance at the Kingsmoot, the Ironborn captains would never support him.

Jon now had to look at his own position.

He had a good grasp at Westwatch but the apparent coming of the Others and their wights would make this only a temporary location.

Asha was a possibility to win the Kingsmoot. With what Jon knew about her he was actually sure that his wife would bid for the driftwood crown. He could rule as her consort with their child as Asha’s successor. That didn't sound too bad.

Lastly, he could just join his brother Robb in Winterfell again. The North would not take the surely unjust imprisonment of their Lord lightly. The troops would be raised. Jon considered himself a very good fighter and with his ever-developing skinchanger abilities he could be an even bigger help.

_What about the Free Folk?_

Jon had promised to bring them south. He wasn’t a man that would break his word. Asha however had also made the same deal he had.

_Should I make sure that she will be Queen?_

It seemed like the easiest choice. He thought how it would be as King Consort. Asha wasn’t the power-sharing type like he was.

 _It would be dreadful for him_ , was his conclusion. _But probably for the best._

* * *

Someone knocked, waking Jon from his current state of misery.

“Come in.”

It was Val, followed by a slender man of middling height, with mostly grey hair and brown eyes. Jon didn’t recognize him.

Val introduced them. “Jon, Mance. Mance, this is Jon.”

Jon wasn’t deeply impressed by the King-beyond-the-Wall. The man did not look like a king, but as they were mustering each other he noticed the aura of confidence the leader of the Free Folk extruded. He seemed at least lordlier than Jon himself.

“A pleasure,” Jon said. “We have awaited your arrival for a long time. Were you successful with the Thenns?”

Jon was curious about the people that considered themselves the last of the First Men. They lived isolated in the uncharacteristically warm Valley of Thenn, in the northern parts of the Frostfangs. Val had never been there, but she had told him that the Thenns were partly farmers, planting vegetables and crops for food.

“I was successful, indeed. All of the Free Folk that could be convinced are now united. I looked forward to the man who would help us south. Call me Mance.” The King-beyond-the-Wall smiled. Considering his laugh lines he did it often.

Jon didn’t want to disappoint the man, but it was better to be honest right away.

“About that…” he began and gestured to the two letters on the desk, pushing it to Mance.

The man could read, Jon knew.

After Mance was finished with the messages, he looked grim.

“What does this change for us?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t have much power anymore outside of these walls. Asha however… I don’t think she would let you hang out to dry.”

“What’s going on?” came from the third person in the room.

Val seemed completely confused, so Mance read both messages out loud for her.

“Will we… still make the trip south with the weirwood?” she asked.

“Aye,” Jon answered. “We will depart in five days. For now nothing changes, alright?”

Mance looked at him. “Who and what else will you leave with you?”

“Half of the Hornfoots for Harlaw and the grey and black Tusks for the Lonely Light.”

Jon would take half of the northern and southern Hornfoots. Additionally, he had decided to try settle two clans of the Tusks who were next to the Antlers one of the two great factions of the men of the Frozen Shore, down on the far-western Lonely Light and it’s twelve surrounding smaller islands. The grey and black Tusks, as they called themselves, numbered less than a thousand people and would at least double, possibly even quadruple, the inhabitants of the small archipelago.

Mance seems a bit puzzled. “I thought the Lonely Light was just a rock.”

Jon shook his head. “It’s actually a second smaller archipelago of several islands. It will be a harsh life, but I already talked to their respective chieftains and they decided to try it… Is that a problem for you?”

The Lonely Light was the smallest island of the eight major Iron Islands. It was also the seat of House Farwynd of the Lonely Light. The Ironborn of that family were apparently obsessed with finding lands in the west of the Sunset Sea. Lying eight days sail northwest of Great Wyk the group of thirteen islands was the westernmost location known behind Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya that made up the exotic Farman Islands far in the south.

“No, of course not.” Mance smiled widely. “I am not a real king after all. I never called myself such and bear no crown. My son Joryn will not lead the Free Folk after me, like I do currently. They can follow whoever they want, like you. They obey me to flee southwards before the Others arrive, but afterwards we will surely splinter apart.” The leader of the Free Folk then smiled widely. “I heard you have a child on the way too?”

“Yes, I will depart for Pyke this week myself because of the birth.”

Jon felt the familiar warmness once more inside him when he thought of his future family. Mance just became a father and looked very happy. Jon wished the same about himself.

“I don’t know much about the Ironborn culture,” said Mance. “Could you win this Kingsmoot?”

Jon shook his head again. “No,” he denied resolutely. “I don’t believe I could. Asha has good chances to win though in my opinion.”

Rodrik could possibly win as well. He had been the regent for the last ten years after all and was very respected for all he had done as far as Jon knew.

Val suddenly grinned. “I spoke with Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun and he is ready to go with us this week. I heard you didn’t have much success yourself, ha!”

Jon didn’t understand what or who she was taken about.

“One of the giants,” the clearly delighted Val explained, lifting his confusion. “Everyone calls him Wun Wun though.”

_Ah, yes._

Jon had originally wanted to take some giants with him to the south, but his conversation with Mag the Mighty had finished before it had started, because he hadn’t known that the entire race apparently only spoke the Old Tongue. Th entire event had been rather embarrassing.

* * *

They arrived at Harlaw as planned two and a half weeks later. The _Sea Wolf_ was loaded full of weirwood. They even had filled a second cog with the mostly untampered resource. They first stored the priceless material at the Ten Towers under a combined guard of both Rodrik’s and Mance’s men.

By now, one quarter of the Iron Arsenal had been built. He showed the Hornfoots their prepared new houses in the adjacent new residential district and decided it was for the best if he told Administrator Nevio to treat them like fellow free men and not like slaves. The man, regardless of how competent he had proved himself, was Pentoshi to the bone in the end. Nevio had almost pissed himself at the sight of Ghost. Jon had barely supressed his amusement from showing outwardly. He also promised that the new ruler of the Iron Islands would keep to the deal with Magister Mopatis, not that he really had the power to do so. It wasn’t like both sides had much of a choice. They had to wait for the results of the Kingsmoot to consider the future of their arrangement.

The rest of the ships, that also transported the two Tusk clans and giant, then made the trip to Pyke. Rodrik was accompanying them for the coming events.

At Pyke they quartered the Free Folk and Wun Wun in the pre-prepared area in the west of the island. The vegetarian giant of over four meters amazed many of the small folk, rightfully so. The race was generally acknowledged as extinct, even though considering Val’s guess about their numbers, exstinction wasn’t an unrealistic possibility in the future.

* * *

Jon had been there for the birth of all his younger half-siblings, but he had never been this anxious before. He was waiting outside the room, barely enduring Asha’s loud screams, together with Ghost, Rodrik and Aeron who would baptise his grand-nephew or -niece with the sea water he held in a leather skin on his belt. Alannys had forbidden him from staying inside.

“Will you two present yourself in the Kingsmoot as a candidate in two moons?” Aeron asked.

“No, I won’t,” Rodrik responded. “Kingship isn’t something I am made for."

Jon replied with the answer he had spoken so often over the last weeks. He had used the different words but always with the same content to Mance, Val, Ored, Rodrik, Lord Baelor, Lord Botley and Lord Wynch.

“I am sorry, but I can’t. I am not Ironborn after all.”

Eligible to vote and to be chosen in the Kingsmoot were all Ironborn captains. Jon could call himself the captain of the _Sea Wolf_ , even though Ser Warren held the title officially, but he wasn’t an Ironborn, but a Northman. He could according to the law neither cast his own vote nor get elected. Jon wasn’t even sure if he would attend the traditional ceremony on Old Wyk.

Aeron laughed only. “Hah, if the Drowned God wills it, you shall be chosen as the new King of the Isles, Ironborn or not! He touched you once, I feel your chances are good. Do not be afraid of your destiny.”

Jon wasn’t as convinced as Aeron but a spark inside him had been lit.

_Do I really want to be a mere consort?_

Jon was a bastard, one that had been elevated to the highest tier of nobility in the Seven Kingdoms. He had prepared himself to rule for his entire life. Jon did not want to give up the position he had found himself in. He had sworn to himself to lead the Ironborn into a prosperous future.

 _But how_ , he asked himself, _how can I win the other captains over?_

He could maybe count on the progressive captains of Harlaw, Pyke and Blacktyde, but the majority of voters considered themselves as destined warriors, as conquerors and reavers. Many would rather die than to acknowledge him as their rightful king. If he bid for the crown, he would also risk Asha’s chances with him.

Suddenly a cry was heard, clearly from a babe. During his musings his wife’s screams had stopped without Jon noticing.

He hesitated only for a moment until he ripped the oak door open and rushed into the chamber.

His sight was blocked by the midwives, female servants and other present womenfolk, all who were surrounding the birthing bed. They quickly moved to the side however when he tried to push himself through them.

Then he saw them. It was a small bundle, pressed to Asha’s bared left breast, suckling on it. The new mother was clearly exhausted from the last hours, but a smile grazed her face, nevertheless.

“A daughter,” Alannys said from his side, but Jon barely registered her words.

Jon stretched out his hands and after seemingly ringing with herself for a few seconds Asha gave the bundle to him.

It - _s_ _he -_ was the most beautiful thing in the world he had ever caught sight of. The pale blond, silver hair puzzled him a bit, but only until his daughter opened her eyelids, revealing two small grey orbs.

_My eyes, those are my eyes…_

“What is her name?” he whispered quietly while unwillingly giving him back to his mother.

“Serra. Her name is Serra Greyjoy.”

* * *

The next day, Rodrik found Jon at the docks of Lordsport in the late afternoon with Ghost next to him and Blueberry on his head.

“Is there something, Rodrik?”

“It’s Uncle now, we are family now, bound together by blood,” his mentor responded with a happy tone.

“Aye.”

Jon himself could barely believe it. He had even pinched himself several times since the birth of _his daughter_.

“I want to talk about the coming Kingsmoot,” Rodrik said. “It will happen in one month, you know.”

“Of course I do. What about it?” He looked at his relative by marriage.

“I overheard your discussion with Aeron.” The Lord of Harlaw’s voice became cautious. “You considered going for the crown yourself, no? I just want to say that I believe you could do it and I will support you either way. Will you?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replied truthfully.

Jon gazed westwards, towards the horizon where the Sunset Sea met the clear blue sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I flip-flopped between boy and girl several times. Did you know there are apparently only three named female Ironborn? Asha, her mother Alannys and her aunt Gwynesse.


	24. Kings- and Queensmoot (Asha IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ironborn captains amass on Nagga's hill to elect their new leader.

The Kingsmoot was a traditional ceremony held by the inhabitants of the Iron Islands in which kings were chosen by the longship captains. For the first time since centuries a new High King of the Iron Islands would be chosen on Old Wyk now.

Nagga's Hill was the site of the remains of the Hall of the Grey King, the first Ironborn. The Grey King, helped by the Drowned God, managed to slay Nagga, the first sea dragon, on the shores of the island Old Wyk and built there his hall out of her bones.

Today, only forty-four massive stone ribs that rose from the earth like the trunks of great pale trees remained of the Hall on the top of the elevation. There were nine steep and wide stone steps which lead to where the Hall's great doors once stood.

Asha stood at the bottom of the steps having arrived early to secure some more supporters in the last minutes. She was rather confident about her chances and had even dressed in her best tunic of grey and gold, the Greyjoy colours. Her only serious competition was her uncle Victarion.

Young Serra Greyjoy was healthy and safe on Pyke with her grandmother who was happier than ever as far as Asha could remember. She just hoped that it would last.

Everyone seemed to agree that her daughter was destined to be a great beauty. She hadn’t actually inherited anything from Asha, at least at first glance, but that was probably for the better. Asha knew that she wasn’t exactly the epitome of loveliness and elegance.

The grey eyes of the Starks and the alabaster skin and silver hair that had to come from Jon’s mother would wake the desires of most men and many women in the future that would manage to get a glimpse at her.

The true identity of Jon’s mother was now more tangible than ever before. Silver hair and alabaster skin were generally Valyrian features, but House Dayne was said to have silver hair appear frequently in their family, too. Considering the existing rumours about Ashara Dayne, the former Lady from Starfall seemed like a safe bet right now.

She soon glimpsed Uncle Rodrik who had just arrived with his _Sea Song_ and was walking towards her now. He was dressed unimpressively in his usual comfortable clothes of grey.

“Asha, I hope you are ready.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle. Tonight I will be Queen.”

Her uncle only nodded. The he asked, “have you heard from Jon?”

“No.”

She had not heard of her husband indeed. Jon had visited her two days after Serra’s birth –she would never go through a pregnancy again – and told her that he would voyage to the Lonely Light with the men of the Frozen Shore. He had also taken Val, the giant called Wun Wun, Ghost and Blueberry with him. He had promised to be back to the Kingsmoot, but she hadn’t sighted the _Sea Wolf_ yet.

Asha was already very mad at him. Jon had told everyone he wouldn’t try to bid for the driftwood crown himself, so it would have been only intelligent if he would help out _his wife and the mother of his child_ to secure a safe and affluent future for their family.

She was even ready to fight with the Starks against the Lannisters. That was one of her main plans, but an attack on the mainland would probably be promised by every challenger. The only difference was the target.

“He’s probably off to tumble around with Val,” she said through her clenched teeth.

Asha wasn’t _jealous_ , she had proposed the idea to the beautiful spearwife herself after all. But that was when Jon was still the patriarch of their House. She hoped that the two would at least have the decency to wait until Serra was a bit older. A Queen wasn’t set aside so easily.

Uncle Rodrik smirked which was a completely uncharacteristic expression for him. “I doubt that. I am sure he will be here soon, too.”

Asha didn’t know where he got his confidence from but decided to not dwell on it much longer.

“It will soon start,” she said. “Let’s get to the top for the best spots.”

* * *

Naga’s Hill was soon filled with hundreds of Ironborn, all of them had arrived with their own longships which laid in Nagga’s Cradle, the bay between the coasts of Old Wyk and Great Wyk. You could barely see the water near the shore because so many boats were present, many she recognized. Asha glimpsed Lord Baelor’s _Nightflyer_ , her distant cousin Quenton Greyjoy’s _Salty Wench_ and her uncle Victarion’s giant dromond _Iron Victory_ , the flagship of the Iron Fleet near her own _Black Wind_. It was surrounded by many other ships of the weakened fleet like the _Grey Ghost_ , the _Kraken’s Kiss_ and the _Sparrowhawk_. The winner of the Kingsmoot would receive the sole ownership of the Iron Fleet for it was property of the Seastone Chair and not the individual ship’s captains.

Soon her uncle Aeron in one of his usual white ragged robes stood upon a giant stone with a flat top where the challengers would present themselves to the amassed captains. He was surrounded by his acolytes, the drowned men. Asha was standing in the first row next to her uncle Rodrik, a few meters away stood Victarion with a grim expression. Her realive-turned-rival was dressed in full plate armour, as if he was ready to battle for the crown. Considering the history of the Kingsmoot it wasn’t completely out of place.

“The time has come, my Ironborn,” the priest began. “The Kingsmoot now begins! The first Kingsmoot in a thousand years!”

His announcement earned loud cheers from the crowd with Asha’s voice included.

Aeron spoke again after the yells had died down. “Who dares to bid for the driftwood crown? Who wants to sit on the Seastone Chair, to lead the Ironborn according to the will of the Drowned God? Who wants to be the new King?!” he yelled passionately.

Asha waited, the later you came the higher were one’s chances to sway the minds of the captains whose originally favoured challenger had already presented themselves and disappointed.

The first challenger came up. It was Lord Erik Ironmaker, called the Anvil-breaker. He came carried on a palanquin by three of his grandsons; Dagon, Thormor and Urek. They were his three named champions. His gifts were silver, bronze and a few steel daggers and blades. These were nothing special, but gifts were crucial nevertheless to be elected, so Asha had prepared some of them herself.

Asha couldn’t take the man serious, most others did not either. Lord Ironmaker had been one of the greatest warriors of the Islands once, but now he was old, he couldn’t even walk anymore.

The candidature was destined to fail, so it was a good opinion to distinct herself from the crowd. “If you want the crown then stand up straight,” she shouted loud enough for all to hear, “on your own feet, with your own strength!”

Lord Ironmaker obviously couldn’t manage it, leading him to get carried off under jeers from all sides.

The next challenger surprised her. It was Lord Dunstan. He didn’t manage to even reach the top of the rock, so loud were the yells from the mob.

“Shipless! Shipless! Shipless!”

Asha had heard the story several times, praising Jon’s daring and nerve. She wasn’t sure if a reminder of her husband would help her right now though. She hadn’t been able to spot him yet. The question if she wasn’t even supported by her husband could hurt her chances significantly.

Finally, Victarion stepped up with Nute the Barber, Ralf the Limper and Red Ralf Stonehouse as his champions. He was popular as both a Greyjoy and the Captain of the Iron Fleet, and his gifts of gold, silver and gems only added to his supporters.

He gave a bland speech how they would raid the western shore of Westeros, the North, the Riverlands and the Westerlands.

The crowd ate it right up though.

“Victarion! Victarion! Victarion!”

_I can do it better._

It was her turn now.

Tris, Dagmer Cleftjaw and Ser Harras were her champions. Tris was her trusted childhood friend, Dagmer a famous and seasoned warrior and Ser Harras was known to all present as a great warrior, ‘the Knight’. Her crew presented mainly gold, from the timber sale. Additionally, she showed off ironwood planks and a chest filled with dark earth.

“My uncle Victarion promises you riches, from raiding the lands we have raided countless times ago! I do not fault him for his ancient ways for he is ancient himself, a relic of the past!” She made a dramatic pause and the expected the laughter came. “My father, King Balon Greyjoy wanted to do the same! You all remember what it earned us!”

“A bastard husband for you?!” came somewhere from the middle of the crowd but she ignored it and continued her speech, otherwise the jokes would only spread.

“Look at the ironwood I brought! And I have got so much more of it. Our fleet is weak right now, but I am already building a shipyard to make us stronger on the sea than ever before! We will be truly unrivalled! Victarion just promises, but I am already acting! For the Iron Islands!”

In truth the Iron Arsenal and the ironwood were mostly Jon’s projects, but he wasn’t here and nobody else argued against her. The crowd went completely wild.

“Name me Queen, and I shall lead you to greater height, with greater ships and more lands than ever before. You will drown in your own gold!”

Asha ended her speech with vague promises and pointed at the earth. Their only aim was to strengthen the fervour of the masses.

The voices of hundreds of captains were surely heard on the entire islands.

“Asha! Asha! Asha!”

She stepped down with great gestures and a wide smile on her face.

_This is it! I am going to be Queen!_

Asha spotted a blue bird in the sky. It was Blueberry.

_Do you see, Jon, how great I can be? Even without you!_

Aeron was already moving to the stone again to call for the vote that she was destined to win when suddenly a loud and clear voice came from behind her.

“Not so fast!”

Asha turned around to get a glimpse on the speaker. Soon, the crowd parted, and she saw him.

The shocked Aeron whispered his name. “Euron…”

Asha was frozen stiff as well.

_No, he can’t… This is my moment…_

Her uncle was a man of average height, pale and handsome with black hair and a dark beard. He wore a patch over his left eye, the reason he was called ‘Crow's Eye’. His right eye was as light blue as the sky. His lips were a blue, too, but even paler. He was dressed in an impressive black armour of Valyrian steel.

The oldest remaining brother of her father held a giant horn in his hands. The horn was almost two meters long and therefore rather unpractical. It had a black gleam and was banded with red gold and what looked like Valyrian steel.

Euron was followed by three youths that had a clear resemblance to him and several men of all skin colours and body types, one of them completely hairy. Asha assumed them to be her uncle’s salt sons and the crew of the infamous _Silence_.

Aeron hastily jumped aside when Euron stepped upon the rock. He then gave the horn to a tall man next to him with black skin, likely a Summer Islander who blew it with a deep breath.

The tone was only describable like the screaming of a thousand souls and it seemed if Asha’s very bones were aflame and searing her flesh from within. After the tone stopped, absolute stillness reigned.

All of a sudden, the Summer Islander collapsed. Asha saw the blisters on his lips, and the bleeding tattoo on his chest. The man was dead.

Then the completely calm Euron began his great oration. “You heard it, captains! The sound of glory! The sound of might! The sound of a Westeros under the reign of the Ironborn. It is time for us to conquer! To take what we deserve, with the iron price!”

Everyone was gazing at the men, no one else dared to speak. Euron’s exotic crew opened chests they had dragged up the hill below him, revealing gold, silver, jewels of all sizes and colours. It was more wealth than Asha had ever seen in her life, assuredly more than any other man present had ever seen.

A quick look around confirmed Asha’s fear. The greed in the glazed eyes of hundreds of men was the herald of her failure.

_How could I be defeated? What did I do wrong?_

She did not manage to find an answer.

“The horn that you heard is Dragonbinder! I found it in the ruins of smoking Valyria!” Euron explained grandly.

Uncle Rodrik next to her was the first to voice everyone’s thoughts. “There are no dragons anymore. What then is its point?”

Euron just laughed. “Hahaha! No, the dragons are back! Three of them have been hatched in Essos. Have you not seen the red comet? It heralded a new age of power, the return of magic!”

Asha had seen the red comet, but she hadn’t wasted much thought on it. Everyone saw it as a prophet of his own biggest dreams or nightmares. She thought it a comet.

Euron apparently saw some of the doubtful faces, so he continued. “My brother promises you simple raiding! My niece promises you wood! Ha, I spit on that! I promise you Westeros! The entire continent shall be ruled by us! By you!”

He gestured to his gifts again, but the crowd was already won over.

“Euron! Euron! Euron!”

The sound was deafening. Asha’s ears were starting to hurt. She knew she had lost.

Euron had a mad smirk on his face when he descended from his podium.

“He’s not an honourable man,” said Rodrik next to her with a grim expression.

_Serra._

She had to flee, for her daughter. They could surely live in the North. Serra was of Stark blood after all.

Blueberry suddenly landed on her shoulder.

Moments later loud screams came from down the hill, from the great stone steps.

“Monster!”

“Aaaaah!”

The mob in the back panicked and everyone started to squeeze each other.

Asha didn’t understand what was going on.

Aeron nimbly rushed on the empty rock again. He suddenly had a wide smile on his face again, a complete turnaround of his mood during his oldest brother’s speech.

“Calm down! Calm down, everyone!” Aeron yelled. “A final challenger approaches and he shall speak for himself as is his right!”

The ‘challenger’ was impossible to oversee. It was Wun Wun who was slowly advancing for the big stone while towering over everybody. The men in front of him scrambled to the side, so they wouldn’t be crushed.

Then Asha saw him, the _real_ challenger.

_Jon._

He was sitting on Wun Wun’s shoulder. On his head was a crown, sticks of white wood, weirwood, tied together in a circlet. He wore simple wide clothes of light grey wool and no shoes. He almost looked like one of the drowned men.

When the duo arrived, Jon jumped onto the rock next to Aeron. Wun Wun stood behind him. Asha also swiftly spotted Val moving to Jon’s right. The woman in a long undecorated white dress probably drew as much attention as Wun Wun by the onlookers. Her golden hair fluttered in the tame sea breeze, turning her into a depiction of the Maiden herself.

Then Asha noticed the movement from her side.

It was Uncle Rodrik. He had a wide smile as he walked forwards and stopped to Jon’s left.

 _As his champion_ , she realized.

Her uncle quickly gestured to one of his men who brough out a pole and revealed a great banner. It showed a howling white wolf on a rock that was surrounded by red water. It was Jon’s personal and House Torren’s coat-of-arms, its meaning clearer than ever before with the massive Ghost situated just a few meters away, directly below his master at the foot of the big stone.

The man carried the banner to his captain, but after a few words of Val in the Old Tongue to Wun Wun, the giant grabbed the pole with his massive hand and held it high up in the air.

“Many of you probably despise me for being a northern bastard, a lucky upstart.” Jon began and everyone listened for his imposing entrance and current scene. “I can’t fault you for these sentiments for they are true! But look at me now! Euron Greyjoy has a horn, a horn that he claims will control dragons!” Jon gestured behind him with his left arm. “I have giants! I do not need to devise such convoluted plots for power! Valyrian sorcery is of shadow and fire! Are you not Ironborn? Are you not the men of the sea? Men of water?!” he yelled before pausing.

“He does have a point,” whispered Tris from her left.

“Why then do you need dragons? There are several hundred captains in my sight. Who will claim the three dragons? Do you really believe that Euron will give a _dragon_ to _you_?”

Jon paused, letting an awkward silence take hold. Whispers broke out moments later.

Asha glimpsed on her oldest uncle whose face was turning red from anger. It made an unusual contrast with his blue lips.

“I am not a man of fire and shadow!” her husband continued. “I am a man that serves the Drowned God! When I was away, he spoke to me! He ordered me to become the next King of the Isles, the next King of the Ironborn!”

_What the fuck are you talking about?_

Jon didn’t even believe in the Drowned God, Asha knew. He worshipped the Old Gods of the North.

After a small pause Jon slowly lifted his hands. Val had moved directly next to him by now. “I see the doubt in your eyes but look to the sea! I speak true and the Drowned God sends his messengers to confirm it!”

Jon pointed to Nagga’s Cradle with his left hand and all present turned to look into the bay, filled with longships. Thankfully, the shape of Nagga’s Hill allowed everyone a good point of view.

Asha couldn’t see anything at first, then she saw movement to the north.

“Whales!” a captain called out. “Dozens of them!”

Indeed, it was an entire school of white and black killer whales jumping from the water as they slowly crossed the wide curved strait from north to east, just close enough that you could see them easily at the water surface. Killer whales normally avoided the inner parts of the archipelago of the Iron Islands, generally living a bit more out in the Sunset Sea.

Asha immediately discerned their origin.

_The Lonely Light!_

The smaller group of islands was filled with rookeries of seals and seals were one the killer whales’ preferred food sources.

Asha quickly turned to see Jon. He stood upright as before at first glance, but his eyes were white while Val was standing directly behind him and holding him tightly. She had seen the same phenomenon at Westwatch with Orell when the skinchanger possessed his eagle.

 _He’s controlling one of the whales_ , she realized. _Probably the leader of the entire group._

Soon, the excitement of the not-so-divine sign died down and everyone turned back to Jon, once again standing straight and awake in his elevated position.

Asha however saw the massive sweat drops dripping down his face.

Then Aeron yelled. “The King! The Drowned God wills it!”

The next person joining him was Victarion. “King Stark!” he boomed. “King Stark!”

Then seemingly all the voices united to one giant choir, causing the ground to tremble.

“King Stark! King Stark! King Stark! King Stark“

Only Asha didn’t join, and a quick glance to Euron confirmed that he and his crew did not either.

They knew that this was not the will of the Drowned God.

_It’s just a mummer’s show…_

* * *

Her childhood friend by her side tried to console her. “In the end you are still Queen, no?”

“Tris.”

She received a “Hmmm?”

“Just shut your mouth.”

Asha had lost. It hadn’t been fair, neither by Euron nor by Jon with their magic tricks, but the Kingsmoot wasn’t a fair competition. It was about getting the support of the captains and Jon had walked away as the victor.

Her husband as the new King of the Isles was honestly the best alternative for her, but it was still a weak comfort.

Euron and his Silence had vanished as soon as the verdict was clear. Asha however was confident that her uncle wouldn’t give up this easily.

She moved to Jon, who was surrounded by his closest supporters, Rodrik, Val, Lord Botley, Lord Wynch and Wun Wun. He still had his weirwood crown on the head. Normally, Aeron would have crowned him with a traditional driftwood crown, but it hadn’t been necessary.

“Congratulations, King Stark,” she greeted her own spouse with her best smile.

Jon grimaced. “It’s my own fault I guess,” he lamented and added a “Queen Stark” with a teasing smile. That earned him a light punch in the shoulder. “I never really used the name Torren much because I didn’t want to draw any anger to me for not being Ironborn. This is the consequence.”

“So, we are the House Stark of Pyke now?”

It was a strong name. It was fair to argue that no other noble house in Westeros could refer to a lineage with a similarly impressive history like the one of the Kings of Winter and later the North.

It was not Greyjoy, however. At least it was better than Torren, a bastard's surname.

Jon nodded. “The Ironborn captains declared me as Stark. To change my name now seems unnecessarily complicated.”

Asha could comprehend his reasoning.

“Let’s go home to Pyke then, alright?”

Jon laughed. “Aye, Princess Serra Stark is surely missing her mommy.”

Then Wun Wun boomed something incomprehensible.

Val swiftly move to one of the giant pale ribs and put her hand on it. Everyone else had followed her and stared at her curiously.

“Hmmm,” she let out while caressing the bones.

“What?” asked Uncle Rodrik.

The sea dragon Nagga was one of the greatest myths of the Ironborn. Asha wasn’t surprised that her book-loving uncle wanted to know what the woman of the Free Folk thought about it.

Val smiled. “Didn’t you say that these are the bones of some great monster?”

“Yes,” confirmed the Lord of Harlaw. “The greatest sea dragon, named Nagga.”

“Well,” replied the blond woman resolutely. “These aren’t bones actually. That’s definitely petrified weirwood. These pillars have to be ancient…”

_Weirwood?_

Asha didn’t see a reason why Val would lie. They had actual petrified weirwood stored at the Ten Towers, so her claim could be verified easily.

Rodrik got a wide grin on his face. “This is interesting indeed. Naga getting slain by the Grey King and the Drowned God… was always a bit questionable. I wonder if this then was a hall of weirwood once. The Grey King’s hall at that.”

Asha didn’t really care about the happenings of a thousand years ago, but this was the founding legend of her people.

She glanced over to Jon, he was listening, but the events of the day took their toll now. His lids were only half-open, so tired was he.

Asha therefore decided to let the others discuss the reveal for themselves and let the truth be for now when she took Jon by the arm until they were a bit distanced from the group.

_I am the Queen now. It can only be good if we are seen together._

It would also conveniently distract from the loss to her own husband.

She turned him towards her, so that they were looking at each other. Jon was still awake.

“Would you have come if Euron hadn’t appeared?” Asha asked cautiously. “If I had been winning?”

Jon smiled at her. “Of course, I wouldn’t have come to challenge my own wife,” he said lightly. “Haven’t you seen Blueberry in the sky? I was watching and cheering for you the entire time.”

That earned him a tight hug, and a deep kiss on the lips.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, its one of the more important ones in this story.
> 
> I originally didn't have Euron appear, but it made from the timeline and the people looked so much forward to it. This also easily introduced his character.
> 
> Ashara Dayne is honestly a both beautiful and terrible red herring by GRRM. As the author I completely hate her, her presence is so infuriating.  
> Like how high are the chances that the woman that is rumoured to be Jon’s mother the most is part of the ONE (!) noble family in Westeros that CONVINIENTLY shares the ULTRA UNIQUE classic Valyrian features while not actually being of Valyrian descent, like what are the chances actually??
> 
> And yes, I turned Jon into an "official" Stark. It was honestly one of my background thoughts all the time and this turns Jon into a more respecetable monarch for the mainland. He is no longer held-down by being a bastard, too, and his his name portrays it.


	25. Invasion from the Sea (Jon XVIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saddening news provoke strong reactions.

_Father is dead._

Jon could still not really believe it, after several hours. He had stayed in his room in the Great Keep for the entire day already, first crying, afterwards moping and constantly asking himself if his father's death had been Jon's own fault.

Not even week ago he had been elected as King of the Isles, so it was quite possible that the Lannister had killed him in retaliation. He had quickly confirmed the deal with Administrator Nevio. The Iron Arsenal would be able to launch their first war galley in four months right now, even though it was only finished by a third.

Considering that because of Jon’s election the Iron Islands were officially in rebellion against the Iron Throne it was smarter to disregard building out the shipyard completely and start building new and better ships as early as possible.

Nevio had even said that the Hornfoots had proven themselves to be hard and able workers, so the Pentoshi could speed up construction if he received the other half of the tribe as fast as possible. Currently, the administrator expected the launch of the first war galley to be in approximately five months’ time. Following this, Jon already sent Lord Baelor with many transport ships northwards to not only bring the remaining Hornfoots, but also other parts of the Free Folk south.

The grey and black Tusks had been satisfied with their new homes, too. Difficulties between the men of the Frozen Shore and Lord Gilbert Farwynd of the Lonely Light were expected, but Jon doubted there would be a greater armed conflict, primarily because the smaller archipelago wasn’t made for it. Jon had also promised Lord Gilbert after his coronation to look west of the Sunset Sea and had even asked the eccentric man to join him on one of his long dreamed of projects of a similar kind.

The door opened, but Jon didn’t look away from the blank wall he was staring at.

“Glugu!”

It could only be his daughter, so he quickly turned around. She was in Asha’s arms who was slowly walking towards him.

“How are you now?” she asked cautiously with a neutral expression.

Jon didn’t answer. His answer was obvious.

“You know… when my father died, I was in a similar situation. I was always angry, lashed out against anyone…”

_That’s right. She lost her father as well. And she was younger than me…_

Jon was already a man grown. He was a king now. He couldn’t be pathetic like a little child.

He gestured for Serra and Asha gave her to him. The one month old girl was the most precious thing in his world. He constantly regretted that he hadn’t spent much time with her up to now. Jon was always travelling around the Iron Islands and even when he was on Pyke he was often buried in meetings with his vassals or in paperwork.

_And now I will be going again._

“The conference is tomorrow, no?” he asked while rocking the silver haired child.

_What a curious colour…_

Arthur Dayne had the same however and Jon was convinced by now that the legendary Kingsguard was his uncle.

_I should send a letter to Starfall when it’s calmer again. Are they not part of the royal family now?_

Jon wasn’t quite sure about the details of royalty, especially not the one of the Iron Islands.

“Yes,” replied Asha. “Have you thought about your rules?”

“Hmmm.” He nodded. This would be a different war for the Ironborn compared to the past.

* * *

Jon had summoned his most important bannermen to the Great Keep of Pyke, so they could discuss the coming war.

Everyone who was expected had come. Asha, the lords of each major isle and the bigger ports with the exception of Lord Baelor who was on his assignment. The most seasoned warriors and captains were also here. The crowd numbered around thirty men.

Jon did not sit on the Seastone Chair but stood next to the wooden table in the centre of the Great Hall surrounded by everyone else. On the table laid a big map, showing the Iron Islands to the north and the Westerlands to the south.

“This war is the first act of a new era for us all and our descendants,” Jon began. “The next months are crucial, so I hope we can work all together. This is not like my father-in-law’s failed rebellion or any of our wars since Aegon’s Conquest. Our goal is not to raid, but to conquer. Don’t massacre the smallfolk and let them be if possible. They will be our future subjects. Focus on the keeps primarily.”

Originally, he had planned to raid the Westerlands until the Lannisters couldn’t support their troops anymore and would be defeated on the field by either Robb or Renly. The Ironborn themselves didn’t have much troops, and most of those were trained for naval battles and not very useful for the war on the mainland of Westeros.

Now, after the Lannisters had killed his father Jon didn’t want to hold back anymore. He got ambitious and was willing to sacrifice part of his honour. It was his first job to make the Iron Islands stronger after all and the easiest way to do that on paper was expansion to the mainland through conquest.

One of the biggest problems of the Iron Islands in the past however had been their inability to control their possessions on the mainland. They had been so focused on their home archipelago and the purity of their culture that their remaining lands had turned into nothing else but suppliers for the Ironborn fleets, stomachs and beds. The Ironborn were proud to not give, to only take according to the custom of the iron price and the Old Ways. In Jon, and many other’s opinion, this way of thinking was not only foolish but destined them to lose. To hold the mainland there had to be positive reciprocity.

He felt he had to stress the point. Without a doubt the more traditional Ironborn would do misdeeds that would haunt Jon in his nights, but war was a terrible thing in the end. He could only do so much as the King. The Ironborn still prided themselves for their freedom, now more than ever before.

“If a Lord is willing to surrender then you should accept as long as the conditions aren’t outrageous. He shall be protected, together with his family and his smallfolk. This is an order!” he decreed resolutely. “I will personally compensate those who will be able to manage this. There is no point in needless bloodshed. I promise you that there will be wars in the future where you will get your fair share if you miss out now.”

His words received some grumbles, but Jon knew had to declare his rules before, and not after they started their move on the Westerlands.

“Every Lord or captain that captures a castle which he can hold until the end of the war may keep it if he wishes for himself and his heirs to inherit,” Jon explained further. “It has to be on our lands, however. You will have to give it up when your holdings are not in our new boundaries.”

This was one of the greatest problems in managing this war. Jon wasn’t so much worried about his enemies, but the other factions who fought against the Lannisters.

His brother Robb was in Riverrun from what he had heard with half of his men. Jon had already sent Lord Wynch on a fast ship for him, to seal their alliance. Jon knew his brother. They had sworn to protect each other and fight together. Robb would accept.

The greatest issue was the newly crowned King Renly and his Queen Margaery Tyrell. Renly wanted the Iron Throne as the rightful heir of his oldest brother Robert. Ravens had been sent from Highgarden that claimed Queen Regent Cersei’s three children including the new King Joffrey were in truth bastards born of incest with her twin, the Kingslayer. Jon believed it because Father had apparently backed Renly. The honourable Eddard Stark would never commit true treason, he wasn’t capable of it.

The Baratheons and Tyrells were unlikely to accept the loss of the Iron Islands, likely even parts of the Westerlands, to a second monarch. The moments the Lannisters were gone, Jon was already looking at his next enemy, and one that was no less of a threat. The King on the Iron Throne claimed to be the sole man with a crown on his head in Westeros. Jon directly opposed this without having any alternatives. He could not surrender to Renly for the Ironborn would never accept it. Jon also didn’t want to surrender. He had reached the peak and there he would stay.

If Jon was to be victorious then the great war had to end with a truce and therefore it was his goal. Butchery, raping and ineffective reaving would not help him here.

After everyone had seemingly come to terms with his given outlines they decided on their initial ship and troop movements.

Sadly, they did not have a great idea about the strength of the Westerlands. There had been one army under Jaime Lannister that had been defeated before Riverrun with the Kingslayer and many of his men fleeing. A second host under Tywin Lannister was somewhere to the south who the men probably had joined by now. According to Roderik the Westerlands were largely undefended now, but the calls for the Kingsmoot had surely reached the mainland. Their targets would not be completely unprepared. If Jon’s success reached them, the Westerlands would surely know that the Ironborn were coming for them.

Victarion as the Lord Captain would lead the current Iron Fleet together with the longships of Saltcliffe, Great and Old Wyk to the south. They would take control of the waters around Fair Isle, focusing on the strait particularly. If they managed to overwhelm the galleys of the coastal Lords they would slowly and cautiously move down the coast, taking every keep with overwhelming numbers.

They weren’t planning to sack the strongly fortified Lannisport, the Lannister fleet would likely be waiting in the bay and the Ironborn could not allow themselves a loss on sea, otherwise the Islands themselves would be in danger. The Iron Fleet would stop at Feastfires at the tip of the long peninsula at the latest.

“I will go to Wyndhall in the north-east. The keep isn’t in its best state,” Jon declared. “Then I will join with my brother in the Riverlands and try to convince him to march westwards along the River Road. We shall take the Golden Tooth and Ashford, breaking their outer line of defence.”

Most present men nodded approvingly. The armies of the North and the Riverrun would be useful without a doubt.

“I will join you, Your Grace,” the grey-haired Lord Gerold Goodbrother spoke. “My men from Hammerhorn are more of the land than the average Ironborn. They will do you much good.”

“The same goes for me,” Lord Stonetree followed up. The Stonetrees of Stonetree were the only noble House of the Iron Islands whose lands did not border the sea.

Then Ser Harras spoke up. The Knight of Grey Garden was dressed in full polished plate armour. “I will take the men of all branches of House Harlaw and take the Banefort. It’s the closest keep to us and well defended. Old Banefort’s hatred for the Ironborn is also widely known. I visited the castle in disguise as a trader a few weeks ago hoping to find a weakness. It is strongly fortified, however. We might have to prepare for a longer siege here. If we can’t take it, I will leave a few man and ships and take the lands surrounding it. I will move then eastwards and afterwards south across the Pendric Hills.”

“Don’t go too far east,” intervened Lord Dunstan. The man had buried his rumoured hatred of Jon apparently for the greater cause. “There is nothing to threaten us there. Take the entire peninsula until you reach the higher hills. Afterwards you should move southwards along the coast, moving on the Crag.”

“I agree with Lord Drumm,” said Lord Maron Volmark. The black-haired youth was of the same age as Jon. The two were the youngest in the room by a few years. “I shall conquer the hills, so you don’t have to worry, Ser Harras. Afterwards I will join with the great host and the King from the Riverlands somewhere before Ashemark.”

Jon just nodded. The young Lord Maron apparently wanted to win glory and reputation in battle instead of the taking of small holdfasts. He could comprehend that.

“We are too slow if we only start from the northern coast,” Asha said. “I will take the men of Pyke and Blacktyde and conquer the Crag directly. It is nothing but a ruin by now. We split the coastlands in two. I can then take control of the remains of Castamere and Tarbeck Hall further inland and the road between them that connects the sea and the core lands.”

Ser Harras spoke up again. “Wait for my men if you have fortified your position, my Queen. We can pressure Ashford or move southwards for Kayce, depending on the situation.”

They took care about a few more intricacies. So, would the men of Orkmont first join Victarion and later try to seize Fair Isle, including Faircastle.

* * *

Wyndhall wasn’t very impressive. It was a long hall of grey-green stone on a cliff ten meters above the sea. It was defended by a wall of stone that protected the few common facilities of a castle like the barracks and food storages next to the main keep.

Jon had enough men to easily take the castle, but he thought it a waste. Lord Estren had been very thankful for Lord Dunstan’s personal vessel and considering his new position Jon thought it was a better approach to negotiate first. Therefore he had only arrived with the _Sea Wolf_. The rest of his approximately eight hundred soldiers were still at Pyke and Lordsport and were destined to arrive on Ironborn longships the next day.

He had landed together with one dozen guards, led by Dagon. Half of them had been with him at Old Wyk when they stole the _Thunderer_. He was also accompanied by Val, Wun Wun, Ghost and Blueberry.

Jon had not wanted to take Val and Wun Wun with him originally because he didn’t feel like the Free Folk belonged in this war. The people from Beyond-the-Wall had no reason to bleed for the Ironborn. The pact stood regardless.

The two, with Val likely in the initiative, had invited themselves anyway. Val wanted to ‘know more about the south’ and war was a pretty helpful experience for that.

Wun Wun with his modified tree trunk club would surely be their greatest asset in battle although he was a rather peaceful fellow in truth. Jon wasn’t even sure how good of a fighter he actually was. The giant’s real strength was his intimidation factor. Many proud and brave warriors would think twice before attacking a group with him and a direwolf so big Ghost stood eye-to-eye on all fours with the average Westerosi man by now.

The smallfolk were already panicking when they caught sight of the group and quickly ran away to the gate. Jon had to send Dagon and two man with a white flag after them, so they wouldn’t unnecessarily provoke a violent reaction from Wyndhall’s men-at-arms.

The King of the Isles, weirwood crown on his head, was pleasantly surprised when Lord Estren himself came back with his men a few minutes later.

Lord Regenard Estren of Wyndhall was in his fifties, the first grey hairs already spottable among brown. He was dressed in a dark green tunic and brown breeches. On his breast was the blazon of his family depicted, a green saltire between four red double-headed eagles on a white field.

The Westerlander made wide eyes at Wun Wun who winked back at him, a three-meter club in his hand, with a toothy smile.

“Gi… giant?” were the only thing he managed to get out. A reaction that they would receive surely many times over the coming weeks.

Jon smirked at him. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Estren,” he greeted the amazed man.

The noble had somehow calmed himself down enough to turn to him. “Lord Torren, it’s good to see you again!”

“That’s His Grace for you!” came from one of the Pyke guards.

“His Grace?”

“Aye,” Jon spoke, “I was elected as King Stark of the Isles by the Ironborn captains in the Kingsmoot.”

“Ohhh… Congratulations, Your Grace.” Lord Estren took to the news better than expected, maybe he was also simply too shocked to really comprehend the words.

“Thank you, my Lord. Did you expect an Ironborn attack?”

“Indeed we did, all the Lords at the coast have called upon every man they have. I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but the Seven seemed to have ignored my prayers…”

“Fear not,” Jon placated him calmly. “Though I am the King of the Iron Islands I am also still a Northman. If you surrender, we shall not harm your family and people.”

Lord Estren didn’t answer and Jon didn’t press him for one. The man looked several times at Jon, Wun Wun, Ghost and then back to Wyndhall. In the end he got a determined expression.

“We surrender.”

His decision got a few cheers from the Ironborn guards but Jon himself only nodded. It wasn’t like the Westerlander had a real choice. Gloating wouldn’t be befitting of his new status here.

“I accept your surrender, Lord Estren. Should your lands be inside mine after the war which I will try to accomplish, then you will be a full-blown noble House under my rule, with the same rights as before.”

The man just nodded. At least he managed a slight smile for it could be much worse.

“Is there anything you wish from me now, Your Grace?” Jon’s newest vassal eventually asked slowly.

“We need accommodations for tonight,” Jon spoke. “Tomorrow my main host will arrive here, several hundred men. I also ask you to spread my offer to all nearby lords and landed knights. I grant you the right to accept their surrenders. Should your people be attacked, try to message me or my bannermen. They will answer appropriately, you are under my protection now.”

Jon hoped that including Westerlanders into his war efforts would help him a lot in the long run. The hatred between Ironborn and the people of the mainland ran deep. If his weaker enemies were approached by one of their own, a respected Lord even, they were likely more willing to give in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First big differences in the war:
> 
> The Kingsmoot means that more Westerlander are bound at their own coasts and therefore their hosts are smaller. Jaime Lannister does not get captured in the Whispering Wood because of his lack of men and following wariness. He is able to flee to Riverrun and later to Tywin when the Northmen attack the siege camps at Riverrun. Robb suffers a lot more casualties but the Karstark sons live.
> 
> Robb Stark has also not been crowned King in the North following the battle.


	26. Mother of Five (Cat I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seperatist are finding a united cause.

The mood in the Great Hall of Atranta was neither festive nor depressed.

Cat looked to her son at her left on the high table. Robb had to make Ned proud in the Seven Heavens. He had thankfully taken the news of Ned’s death by the Lannisters much better than she had. She prayed for Sansa and Arya in King’s Landing every seven hours at least. Robb had sworn to her that he would free his two sisters from the capital where Kevan Lannister now reigned as Hand of the King and Regent.

Thirty thousand men from the North and the eastern Riverlands had freed the ancestral seat of House Tully where Cat had been born and grown up from the prepared Lannister host of fifteen thousand. The Northmen had sadly suffered a significant loss of three thousand men while the Lannisters got away with only a scratch.

The Kingslayer had moved most of his man in one of the three siege camps surrounding the castle that were separated by the Tumblestone and the Red Fork. The south-western camp had been specked with ditches, spiked walls, and its ground had gotten covered by easily inflammable hay.

When the Northmen attacked, the men had been hit by the crossfire of over a thousand Westerlands bowmen from across the rivers, hitting many, burning even more.

Most of the men remaining in the attacked camp whose job was merely to be bait had managed to flee over the river over two make-shift wooden quays that significantly shortened the time in the freezing water flow.

It was rumoured that the Imp had been the mind behind the brutal Lannister tactics.

No matter the cost, in the end Riverrun had been freed including the Riverlords like her brother Edmure who after their father’s death was now the rightful Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Her much younger brother was still a bit down from his losses by Pinkmaiden and Riverrun with his own host against the Lannisters.

Edmure was currently out with many of his fellow Riverlords to build up their troops again, so the combined power of the two kingdoms would be even stronger.

_If only the Vale would join us…_

Cat couldn’t understand why her sister hadn’t ordered the Valemen to ride out. They were still hiding behind the Bloody Gate and their mountains.

With the Vale’s support from the start they might have been able to pressure Lord Walder Frey enough to open the bridge without promising the old man Robb for one of his countless daughters and Arya’s hand to one of his male brood.

A servant approached the centre of the high table where she, Robb and Lord Vance sat. “My Lord Stark,” he spoke flustered, “someone called Lord Wynch of Iron Holt wishes for an audience. Should I announce him?”

Robb turned to her. She herself needed a few moments to recognize the House name.

“A noble from the Iron Islands,” she explained, puzzled herself. “From Pyke. He might want to announce the winner of their Kingsmoot.”

She held no love for the Ironmen. They were uncivilized criminals. As much as she had disliked her late Ned’s bastard,it was almost a punishment to be sent there alone where he would be surrounded by a folk that dreamed of his death. At least those had been her initial thoughts until the boy had started to confer with wildlings as well. Not that the boy really had a right to complain. She didn’t understand why King Robert had given the Lordship over Iron Islands to him. Her Bran had already been born, trueborn at that obviously. Surely the King had known about him. She would have given Bran so much protection and support that he would have been secure in his position.

“Announce him,” Robb said hastily. He turned to her. “Maybe he has news of Jon.”

Cat doubted it. That Jon Snow had lost his position because his people immediately had decided to become independent _again_ wasn’t much of a surprise. Considering that nobody had heard of him since the news of the Kingsmoot arrived he was likely dead or captured, meaning soon to be dead. Cat hadn’t mourned for him and likely wouldn’t in the future. Her husband had died as well after all.

_Maybe I light a candle in the sept tonight for his tainted soul._

“Lord Waldon Wynch of Iron Holt!”

The man that appeared through the door hadn’t seen more than forty name days, guessed Cat. The dark-haired ironman had a stern expression and walked stiffly down the hall. He was dressed in a dark gambison with a purple tabard on top showing a bleeding sickle moon, behind him swished a purple cape.

When he stopped before the high table, he had drawn the attention of the many Northern Lords in the room.

“Lord Wynch,” greeted Robb regally. “Why have you decided to take the long way from Pyke to us.”

Catelyn applauded her son mentally. He had easily lifted the confusion of most people in the room who the fascinatingly dressed man was that came before them.

“Ha! A raider cunt!” the Greatjon yelled.

Cat could comprehend his displeasure. She wasn’t an admirer of them either.

Lord Wynch ignored the insult that were thrown at him and spoke, “I am here to bring a message of the new King of the Iron Islands, Jon Stark!”

_King who?!_

Cat felt her heart thumping loudly in her chest. This was it, one of her greatest fears coming true!

“Jon? My brother Jon?” Robb excitedly questioned, leaning further over the table.

He obviously didn’t understand the intricacies of what the ironman had said. The word ‘Stark’ still haled through her mind.

Lord Wynch nodded. “Indeed, King Stark has been elected by the Ironborn captains. He now wears a weirwood crown on his head.”

_Weirwood crown!_

She knew that the King of the Iron Ilsands normally wore either a crown of driftwood or iron. This obviously meant that he hadn’t completely embraced his lands' culture.

_A king holding to the Old Gods…_

Cat looked at the reactions of the present Northern Lords. Many had confused expressions, but some of them like the Greatjon or Lady Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey had wide smiles on their faces.

“My King wishes to unite our strength against the Lannisters,” Lord Wynch continued. “An alliance of blood.”

Robb laughed loudly. “Of course, we shall fight together! When and how will you fight?”

“I do not the exact plans, but our ships should already have begun to raid the coasts of the Westerlands. His Grace has told me that he wants to personally wants to join you in the future to march westwards.”

“I will await him and his men with delight,” Robb yelled. “Let us feast tonight then for this great news! Lord Wynch, sit at my table as the guest of honour!”

_He will even come here!_

How would the Northern Lords react when they saw a King that claimed the name Stark? Jon Snow even looked extremely similar to her Ned.

 _I can’t allow that_ , she resolved herself.

Originally, they had planned to march on King’s Landing from the north while King Renly would come from the south. Now Robb was about to march westwards instead. The bastard had been crowned King. He was in open revolt against the Iron Throne, regardless if it was Joffrey or Renly that would end upon him. Her son would never let his half-brother fight alone against the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

_I have to stop this madness._

“How can he call himself a Stark? Does he claim the North as well?” she asked loudly towards Lord Wynch who was now moving to the side, away from her.

The Lord of Iron Holt turned around. “He’s the King and the son of the former Lord Stark, no? My King can call himself Stark if he wants for who dares to defy him?” The ironman’s voice got louder towards the end. It was as he challenged everyone in the hall.

“King Stark, huh?” the Greatjon boomed. “Ha! I like the sound of that. The dragons forced us to kneel, but the dragons are dead!”

Catelyn couldn’t believe what Lord Umber was about to do. Everyone in the room knew what the giant man alluded to.

“Aye,” said Lady Mormont then loudly. “How can there be a King named Stark in Westeros, but he doesn’t rule the North?”

“Aye!” The Greatjon replied. “I say two King Starks are even better than one. Who is with me?” He pulled out his two-handed long sword and put it into the air.

Cat was powerless to stop the frenzy that had packed the Northmen. With loud hooting and cheering many others did the same.

The Greatjon yelled it first. “The King in the North!”

“The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!”

* * *

The great host had been split in the next days. The Leecher Lord Roose Bolton would lead thirty thousand men further south-eastwards, while seven thousand under her newly crowned Robb left to go westwards along the River Road towards the Golden Tooth. They had just crossed the Red Fork when there was a loud commotion in the campsite of the Riverlanders.

Loud jubilation led Cat and the Northmen with her to the source. It was Edmure surrounded by a few of his best friends, both Lords and heirs. They were all laughing and hooting.

“Brother? What is happening?” Cat asked after she had shoved herself a bit through the amassing crowd.

The happy Edmure turned to her. “Ah, Cat! We have just finished the planning of the ceremony tomorrow. Nothing to worry about.”

“Ceremony? For Robb?”

Her son hadn’t been crowned in an elaborate feast act. The Kings of Winter were traditionally only acclaimed by their Lords as it had happened in Atranta.

“Robb, why should we celebrate for him?” her brother said a bit puzzled before he smiled, almost slyly. “You have to believe me that I didn’t want to, sweet sister, but in the end, I just couldn’t hold out under their pressure. It really seems like the Seven Kingdoms are at its end.” He then spread his arms. “How do you think it sounds? King Edmure Tully! King of the Trident!”

_Huh?_

Cat needed a few seconds to comprehend the words his brother had spoken out loud.

“No,” she finally reacted.

Nothing else had to be said. She couldn’t believe that Edmure was actually entertaining to crown himself now too.

Her brother however seemed to only become more determined by her protest. “Why not, big sister? Your son and his bastard brother have a crown too. I feel one would fit me greatly as well.”

“Renly is the rightful King on the Iron Throne and your liege.”

She knew her argument was weak. Renly was also Robb’s rightful King, and Jon Snow’s. Now they had completely broken with the rest of the realm.

“Renly?” questioned Edmure, more than loud enough for the growing crowd around them to hear. It was mostly Riverlanders but there were also quite a few Northmen mixed in. “Where is he now? He sure is taking his sweet time to march for King’s Landing. Where was King Renly when the Lannisters started burning my lands? Where was King Renly when I and my bannermen were besieged in Riverrun?!”

Loud cheers came from all sides. Her brother wasn’t the smartest, but he knew how to speak to the masses.

_The other Lords will go after him the first chance they get. Many won’t even follow him._

Cat was getting desperate. “You have no claim. We Tullys never ruled as kings.”

Lord Marq Piper, next to Edmure laughed. His father had been killed in the battle of Pinkmaiden by the Kingslayer. “What claim? Where is the claim of your husband’s bastard on the Iron Islands? He hasn’t one, I tell you that!”

“Yes, big sister,” spoke Edmure again with a wide smile. “The Northmen and Ironmen are in open rebellion against the Iron Throne anyway. The united Seven Kingdoms are done. Is it wrong that we want our own independence as well?”

“No, it’s not.”

Her son had finally arrived, with a serious expression, dressed in his traditional leather clothes of black and grey with his newly-forged spiked iron crown on his head

“Uncle,” Robb said to Edmure. “If you and your bannermen believe this to be the right step then I and my men will support you.” After a few moments he added, “And I know that Jon will support you too. We Northmen neither have the right nor the intention to forbid you from striving for the same privileges that we are taking for ourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Riverlanders declaring for Robb was always a stupid kneejerk reaction in my opinion that falls through on a rational level.  
> Yes, Robb is half-Tully but he would still rule from Winterfell, a city three to five times farther away from the Riverlands than King’s Landing.  
> How will he protect them considering the established slowness of the North in calling their banners? The Riverlands are notorious for being the battlefield of every war in the Seven Kingdoms. Sovereignty would actually help them a lot in many conflicts by staying neutral and threating to fight against only those who cross their borders. In this scenario they have even an obvious alliance with two of their neighbours that break away from the Iron Throne as well, the North and the Iron Islands.  
> Does Edmure have claim on the Riverlands? No, except that he is the Lord Paramour. Will all Riverlords follow him regardless of that? No, of course not but the Riverlands were never a geographically well definable area like the Iron Islands, the North, the Vale or Dorne anyway. A consolidation would likely even help their defence against invaders.
> 
> I tried to portray Catelyn as the person that I understand her as: Someone who is overprotective of her family which should always be her most defining trait. A lot of Fics tend to either justify or bash her needlessly for this, the latter often turning her into a cruel and hateful bitch regarding Jon, and Jon only for plot convenience.


	27. The Crag (Asha V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha negotiates with Sybill Westerling.

Asha had landed with twenty longships and approximately two thousand Ironborn a few kilometres to the north of the Crag in a small bay.

On the way to their goal they didn’t meet any resistance. The peasants seemed to have all fled when they sighted the army, either to hide inside the castle or their homes.

The Crag was the seat of House Westerling. It was built on a cliff that sticked several hundred meters out into the sea as its name described. Once a well-defendable fort it was now more of a ruin than a castle as the Westerlings no longer had the funds to maintain it. The walls were partly collapsed, reaching not even six meters at some places. The main keep was easily observable from afar, the top half of it was made from stone, the lower from stone.

On the still usable stone walls Asha could count at least two dozen guards, dressed in yellow and grey.

Tris mustered the castle next to her. “It’s going to be bloody annoying to take this thing, even though it’s not well upkept.”

Asha could only nod. “Let’s try to see if they’re willing to negotiate. Send an envoy,” she ordered.

The man chosen was a baseborn youth named Qallon who hadn’t even seen fifteen name days. He was the youngest of Asha’s man and had never seen real combat before. Therefore he was also the most replaceable.

The Westerlings apparently weren’t outright hostile to them. Their young messenger returned and reported that Ser Reynald Westerling, the heir and acting Lord, asked for Asha to enter the castle for the talks.

“That’s a fucking trap, Asha,” Tris warned sharply. “They will take you hostage and threaten to kill you to force the rest of us away. You’re the Queen now. You have more value than ever before. I should go for you.”

“Hmmm.”

It was indeed a significant risk, but she needed to prove herself so her soldiers would respect her. While she was the Queen now instead of the Lady, her rank hadn’t actually changed in the hierarchy of the Iron Islands. In reality it had even decreased. Her Greyjoy blood wasn’t as important anymore after the Kingsmoot. Jon could easily replace her without much fuss from all but her family and maybe a part of the population of Pyke.

She was convinced that he never would, but it didn’t change her new position.

Asha turned to Quallon. “Go back and ask for a hostage as security for me, don’t let yourself get swindled though, alright? Ask for several even for I am Queen after all.”

“Yes, Your Grace!” he replied dutifully.

Tris spat on the ground in rage. “You’re getting corrupted by your husband. He would do the same, the foolish idealist.”

That made Asha giggle. “No, Jon wouldn’t even ask for a hostage.”

Ten minutes later he returned with two women in elaborate sand-coloured dresses and ten guards in impressive gear, likely the Crag’s elite. They stopped just outside of the arrow range from the walls. Asha, Tris and ten of her men met them there.

One was a handsome, older black-haired woman. The other one was much younger. She was slender of posture and had chestnut curls framing a heart-shaped face. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman Asha had ever seen but most of the Ironborn wouldn’t hesitate to take her as salt wife. From their similar feature including their brown eyes Asha assumed them to be closely related.

The older one spoke first, not even a bit scared, unlike the younger girl who was nervously looking around with her fingers twitching. “Your Grace?” she asked while looking at Asha. A dumb question considering that she was the only woman among the Ironborn and wore an iron circlet on her head.

“Indeed, Queen Asha Greyjoy of the House Stark of the Iron Islands.”

The woman made a polite curtsey, the girl swiftly hastily following her.

“My name is Sybill Spicer, Lady of the Crag and wife of Lord Gawen Westerling.” She then pointed to the younger girl next to her. “This is my daughter Jeyne.”

_Smart, only sending their worthless womenfolk out._

“A Queen is worth far more than you two combined. I won’t pass through your gate with you two as leverage.”

The older noblewomen smiled politely. “That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. I will be negotiating, and I am willing to do it right here. My Jeyne is only here as a show of trust.”

Thad did surprise Asha. Lady Sybill seemed both ambitious and brave to come out herself and dragging her own daughter with her.

“Where is your husband?” she asked to find out the current power in the castle. Asha didn’t want to get duped by a woman with a name she had never heard of before.

“My husband is marching with Ser Jaime Lannister, so my oldest son Reynald is ruling these lands right now with my brother Ser Rolph as castellan.”

“Fair enough,” Asha said and began laying out the standard terms Jon had declared. “I don’t think there is much to negotiate. Surrender the castle and your family and smallfolk will be spared. Should your House even help us then you will receive my and my husband’s protection.”

“Those are rather generous terms, Your Grace. Not something one would usually expect of your kind…”

Asha understood her true question and tried to assure the two of her sincerity. “My spouse Jon is the son of the honourable Lord Eddard Stark after all. We Ironborn aren’t just uncivilized barbarian as everyone says.”

The Lady of the Crag didn’t seem very impressed. “Lord Tywin on the other side isn’t so honourable. He will make an example of my entire family if we cooperate with his enemies.”

Lord Tywin’s reputation was indeed one of the Ironborn’s biggest enemies. No noble would want to condemn one’s family to be the base for the second verse of the Reynes of Castamere. This issue would be especially prominent in the Westerlands and it was the main reason Asha didn’t trust Jon’s plan of peaceful negotiation first. The risk of them getting backstabbed was too high.

Asha however stayed resolute. “Tywin and his Lannister brood are done for. He is outnumbered four to one. Renly is marching on King’s Landing right now. This the chance to switch to the winning side when you still have the chance, you won’t get a second.”

“We have many men behind our walls. You don’t have enough to take us by storm.”

Tris laughed loudly from the side and spoke up for the first time. “Really nice wooden buildings you have behind your low walls there. Would be a shame if someone shot a fire arrow at it. Ha! I bet most of the houses inside are at least partly made from timber. The main keep is at least. Your children are going to be cooked alive. Hehe!”

Young Jeyne gulped after his threat.

The threat of fire wasn’t actually serious. It had rained the night before and it was very wet in general because of the sea. Asha had to admire her friend’s genius. The two noblewomen weren’t experience in the arts of war and ate the act right up. Jeyne had started shivering from fear and her mother didn’t seem so calm anymore either, blanching a bit.

“If we open our gates how could we trust you to not take the castle by surprise though,” Lady Sybill asked silently after a few moments.

_The might have less men than we originally guessed._

“You don’t need to open the gate for all of us,” Asha declared her terms. “Send out your men-at-arms with full battle gear, so we can disarm them. We take your entire armoury too. We will send inspectors before and afterwards, so you can’t cheat us. You shall also give us all food and wine while we stay around here. Soon an even bigger army will join us from the Banefort, so don’t try to cross us.”

These were incredibly lenient conditions. But without their soldiers House Westerling would be toothless and lose their ability to defend the Crag in the future.

After half a minute of consideration Lady Sybill gave her answer. “Good, we accept those terms.”

_Hmm, that was easier than I thought._

Asha was just about to instruct her men to prepare themselves when her eyes fell on Jeyne Westerling.

 _Her mother is a shrewd woman all right_ , she considered. _Better to take some more leverage._

She pointed at the pretty girl. “We will also take this one as a hostage.”

Jeyne whitened and squeaked.

Her mother looked outraged. “I won’t give my daughter up to a bunch of rapists.”

“I will put her under my own protection and move her to Pyke with the next ship.” After some thinking she added, “she may become the salt wife of the King. If my spouse doesn’t want her, she will be returned untouched after the war.”

Asha wasn’t scared of competition. She was the rockwife. If Jon wanted to have respect of his people he had to show some cultural appropiation. Noble saltwives would do well for that without any bloodshed. They were taken, not courted. Jon was too honourable for practices like these which he considered 'barbaric', therefore Asha had to do what was necessary.

Val would likely run out of patience with Jon soon but the spearwife would hardly be accepted as a true salt wife by the Ironborn considering her blood and appearance at the Kingsmoot. She doubted Jon and Val would even get married, they both prayed to the Old Gods and the wildling didn’t have formal marriage ceremonies.

Jeyne Westerling wasn’t a threat on her own. The girl seemed to be afraid of her own shadow.

Asha had apparently calculated Lady Sybill’s character well. She considered her daughter’s fate for not even a minute before giving her verdict. “Deal, we agree.”

“Mother, I don’t want to go!” her daughter shrieked with tears in her eyes.

Asha could understand her reaction to a point but getting sold off like cattle was a noble maiden’s usual future, she had experienced something similar as well. There was no reason to cry, as she herself had not.

The Lady of the Crag turned to her swiftly to hug and placate her. “Jeyne, you have to think about our family, your brothers and sister. The Lannisters are about to get decimated on the field and the Westerlands are currently on the chopping block.”

The two mainlanders were allowed to go back into their home with their guards and a dozen Ironborn led by Tris that would supervise everything was carried out as agreed upon.

* * *

Asha decided to spend the coming night in a farm half a kilometre away from their recently ‘conquered’ castle.

“So, what’s up with this girl,” Tris questioned Asha later unamused when they were alone after a good supper, the Westerlings hadn’t skimped with food. “Why did you claim her for your Northman. That’s not how it’s done. Jon has to be pay the iron price for her.”

“You didn’t complain that our new stuff wasn’t won by the iron price,” Asha countered coldly.

Not a few of their soldiers had happily taken the better weapons and armour from the Westerling men for themselves.

“It was taken under the threat of violence, still counts.”

It was a weak argument and they both knew it, but no one else would bother to look into the origin of the noblegirl.

“Jon does not have the attitude to follow our traditions, so I have to help him out,” she explained. “My power and the safety of Serra is dependant on his hold on the crown now. I support him for us.”

The positive effects of Jon’s trickery at the Kingsmoot would definitely get weaker and weaker in the future. He was still a foreigner in the end and lacked Ironborn blood.

“The quandary is something I am responsible for, even though I don’t have regrets,” she told Tris further. “I had no other choice. If Jon dies the Ironborn will likely call for another Kingsmoot, and then all possibilities are open. Jon need to be embraced by the Ironborn, small- and noblefolk, so Serra has an easier time to be elected Queen after him.”

The less pious Ironborn would surely reach for the crown disregarding the blood of ‘the Drowned God’s Champion’ as Aeron and his followers dubbed him.

Jon hadn’t made any steps to secure the inheritance of their daughter, so she had to do it. King Urron ‘Redhand’ Greyjoy had secured the Seastone Chair for his line by gathering his men and killing all the other attendees in the last known Kingsmoot four thousand years ago. Asha wanted to avoid such extreme measures for now.

“I don’t think your husband will take her as a salt wife though, stiff as he is,” Tris eventually said.

“I don’t care how he treats her in the end. Jon has proven himself a good mummer, so he can simply pretend.”

Looking at his show act on Nagga’s Hill it shouldn’t be a big problem for him.

Tris probably disagreed with her but stayed silent anyway.

“Go to sleep,” Asha ended their short conversation. “Tomorrow we march for Castamere. I will look for the guards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too happy with this chapter, it could possible undergo a rewrite. The core is that I wanted to describe Asha's worries for Serra and how she wants to approach them.
> 
> Jeyne is kind of an anti-pol to both Val and Asha. Her character is rather basic and uninteresting. Without Robb she will act differently though.
> 
> I also feel bad for her as a figure in ASOIAF. She got replaced by some girl in the show with a ridiculous unrealistic background. Seriously, a Volantene noblewoman travelling the battlefields in a notoriously brutal war in Westeros?!


	28. Three Crowns (Jon XIX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reaches his brother and the Tullys.

Jon and his retinue had first heard of Robb's changed march route near Riverrun and had then ridden, in Wun Wun’s case run, south-westwards crossing the Tumblestone at a ford. Jon and his retinue reached the Northern army halfway between the Red Fork and the Golden Tooth on the River Road after less than two weeks since landing at Wyndhall.

The reactions to Wun Wun featuring Blueberry on his head were as expected with people either barring steel or running away.

“You there!” Jon yelled and pointed at a group of men in half-plate armour with the Twins of House Frey on their breasts. “Lead King Robb Stark here for I am his brother, Jon!”

Most of the addressed didn’t even think about following his orders but a grizzly one nodded and left swiftly inside the camp.

Over the next few minutes the crowd surrounding Jon’s company grew and grew. When it had reached well over two hundred men finally a loud command was given.

“Move aside! Make space for the Kings!”

_Kings?_

Jon had only heard of Robb’s crowning by his bannermen at Atranta. He didn’t know any other kings in Westeros besides Joffrey, Renly and himself.

The soldiers parted in front of them and a large group entered Jon’s sight. He immediately spotted his brother in grey and black leather clothes. Next to him walked a man of stocky build with similar colouring to Robb, auburn hair and a fiery red beard with deep blue eyes. The man that looked around a decade older than Jon and Robb wore the trout of the Tullys prominently on his breast plate and shoulder guards. What really fell in Jon’s eyes was the golden crown on his head, specked with several blue sapphires and green emeralds.

“Jon!” Robb yelled still moving towards him. “Is that a true Giant?!”

“Aye, his name is Wun Wun.” Jon laughed. “Don’t worry, he is vegetarian.”

They hugged shortly before Robb turned around and gestured to Wun Wun.

“Bring our new big friend here a lot of vegetables! Jon, come follow me to my tent.”

The entire group moved inside the camp with everyone else making respectfully space. Jon soon was greeted by Robb’s older relative.

“It’s great to finally meet the King of the Isles. I am Edmure Tully, King of the Trident.”

Jon was a bit perplexed by the man’s title and jolly attitude. He made the beginnings of a polite bow anyway.

“I didn’t know that you have been crowned, King Edmure,” he replied. “What are the circumstances? As far as I know House Tully had merely been the Lords of Riverrun until Aegon the Conqueror gave them the Lord Paramountship of the Riverlands.”

“Aye,” Edmure said with a small laugh. “A group of my most trusted friends and vassals convinced me to take the crown. Our people have suffered long enough under the Iron Throne and considering that we are allied with two newly proclaimed kings themselves we saw no reason not to do the same. Independence will do us much good.”

Jon wasn’t sure what to think about Edmure himself but accepted his explanation. He could hardly argue the decision of the Riverlanders considering Robb’s and his own position.

“Do you think all Lords under you will accept you?”

“I doubt it, but a lot of the Lords along the Trident have already given me their support. The people who will join Renly are probably the untrustiest anyway.”

That made sense for Jon. The more ambitious nobles who weren’t close to Edmure were likely going to embrace Robert’s younger brother which was backed by the wealthy Tyrells.

_It’s like cutting of an arm to prevent a poisoned wound from infesting your entire body._

They finally arrived at and entered Robb’s grey tent surrounded by Stark banners.

 _Stark of Winterfell banners_ , Jon corrected in his head.

Wun Wun sat down outside with Ghost and Grey Wind next to him happily reuniting.

They all set down around four tables arranged in a square with food getting hastily served by several male and female servants. Edmure, Catelyn, Robb were sitting on one side with Jon and Val to his right on the opposite. Lord Wynch was present too and took his seat to Jon’s left. Between them were several chairs occupied by Lords of the North and the Riverlands, not all for Jon recognizable.

“I think we should make a short round of introduction for our new friends,” Robb decreed and started. “Robb Stark of Winterfell, King in the North.”

“Catelyn Tully, wife of Lord Eddard Stark.”

It followed a short silence until Edmure presented himself. “Edmure Tully, King of the Trident,” he said calmly.

“Ser Brynden Tully, I am Edmure’s uncle,” the grey-haired and clean-shaven older man announced himself who Jon only knew of as the ‘Blackfish’, a seasoned warrior and commander of the Ninepenny Wars and Robert’s Rebellion

“Lord Marq Piper of Pink Maiden.”

“I am Lord Jon Umber of the Last hearth,” a voice boomed. “Call me Greatjon!”

“Ser Stevron Frey, heir of the Twins.” Lord Walder Frey’s oldest son was a rather old man already.

“I am Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall.”

“And I am Lord Jonos Bracken of Stone Hedge,” came the immediate follow-up.

The rivalry between the two Houses was so legendary, Jon wondered why they sat right next to each other. It was already questionable why they both were part of this smaller host and one of the two hadn’t joined the bigger army under Lord Bolton’s command.

“Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island,” said the older woman while grinning to Jon.

After everyone was through except for Jon and his two neighbours who sat a bit removed from the rest of the people it was their turn.

“I am Jon Stark of Pyke, elected King of the Isles,” he announced.

“Lord Wynch of Iron Holt,” came from his left.

Jon had gripped Val’s thigh on his other side, so she didn’t announce herself but she either didn’t understand his message or wilfully ignored it, he assumed the latter.

“I am Val of the Free Folk,” she proclaimed proudly to the curious Lords in the tent who had surely all taken notice of her beauty.

That didn’t get any reaction at first. Most people only knew the people living Beyond-the-Wall as ‘wildlings’ and not their own given name.

“Aah!” The Greatjon apparently didn’t because he jumped up from his chair. “A wildling cunt!”

The revelation followed exactly the outrage that Jon had wanted to avoid. Val however didn’t seem sorry at all. She even grinned at him slyly.

“You just had to do that, aye?” Jon whispered to her.

“My Lords! My Lords! Let’s all calm down,” his brother yelled for all to hear. “I didn’t know you were scared of young unarmed women!”

That got most of the men present back on their seats.

 _Good job, Robb_ , Jon couldn’t help but congratulate even though he now knew that Val had a knife hidden in her dress – one of many probably.

“I can’t fight with fucking wildlings!” the Greatjon roared.

Jon remembered that the large man’s niece had been stolen by Free Folk raiders a few decades ago.

_At least he has his reasons…_

Jon decided to quickly step in anyway. “My father, Lord Eddard Stark approved of my handling with the people living beyond the Wall,” he half-lied. “Will you question his judgment when you are also fighting to revenge his unjust death?”

The Lord of Last Hearth grumbled but sat down anyway not stopping to gaze heatedly at Val who only returned an innocent smile.

“Val is the only of her folk here and who speaks the Old Tongue that Wun Wun understands.” Jon gestured to the tent entrance where the Giant sat behind.

“Giants!” Edmure exclaimed excitedly. “How great is that? The Lannisters will piss themselves when they even catch sight of our army!”

It followed a few grins and snickers, mostly by the younger lords and heirs.

“It’s only one,” Val said calmly.

“For now,” Jon added to keep the mood up.

“No matter that,” Robb said. “Let’s talk about our situation now. We are all allies, originally versus the Lannisters and for independence from the Iron Throne now as well, aye?”

Loud agreement was his answer, including Jon who was impressed how natural of a leader Robb had become in the last few months. Father’s training had really paid off with his oldest brother.

“Then we should talk about strategy. Where are your ships and men?” Robb asked towards Jon.

He quickly explained the Ironborn’s strategy in its basics. “With my wife in the west, we should quickly storm the Golden Tooth and Ashemark to meet her,” he proposed. “Then we can swiftly turn on Casterly Rock and Lannisport.”

“Casterly Rock is untakeable, boy,” the Blackfish replied resolutely. “The thing has only one entry point with a small and easily defensible ramp.”

Jon had never seen the seat of House Lannisters, so he couldn’t deny the experienced Tully.

“Lannisport is a viable target anyway,” Edmure said. “We should sack it like the Westerlander’s sacked Pinkmaiden and Stoney Hedge!”

His proclamation was followed by loud cheers mostly by the nobles of the Riverlands who had suffered under the Lannister’s campaign the most so far.

The plan was quickly decided upon afterwards. They would move on the Golden Tooth and Ashemark and Sarsfield afterwards, uniting with the Ironborn from the coast. Together they would attack Lannisport. There had also been rumours about a new host getting formed at Casterly Rock by Ser Stafford Lannister.

“Is there anything else?” Edmure asked afterwards.

“Yes,” Lady Stark replied sternly. “The bastard wears the name Stark as if he was trueborn. Next he will usurp my children!”

It was a strong accusation. Jon had expected something in this direction however, since the Kingsmoot, just not so publicly. The problem was that Lady Stark’s worries weren’t completely unjustified, on paper at least. It was normally unacceptable for a naturalborn son to claim the name of his noble sires.

“It is no problem,” Robb answered before Jon could give his own thought about the matter. “As the head of the Royal House Stark of Winterfell I allow my brother Jon to wear his chosen surname and give him my blessings as founder and head of the Royal House Stark of Pyke. He shall be the next in line for the Winter Throne after myself as long as this war continues.”

Jon couldn’t supress a gasp from his shock following Robb’s declaration and a quick glance revealed the similar reactions of the Tullys and many Northern lords.

“What about Bran and Rickon, and Sansa and Arya?” he asked silently for their siblings should come before him after the usual inheritance customs.

“Bran has left Winterfell mysteriously, only telling Maester Luwin that he might not come back and appointed Rickon as the Stark in Winterfell,” Robb explained while looking towards Jon. “Rickon is too young for now and our sisters are captives of the Lannisters in King’s Landing.”

Jon could understand his reasoning and realized that Robb clearly had thought about this before.

_He trusts me and doesn’t want someone take command that might not look out for the North’s best interests._

Jon threw a short look at Edmure. The King of the Trident was rather easy-going from his observations until now, but the man was also obviously driven by hate and revenge against the Westerlanders, likely turning him more reckless than he should be.

“The Lordship of Winterfell isn’t included with this,” his half-brother added at last with a glance at his mother who had completely paled.

_The proclamation can only take effect during the war. I just need to keep Robb alive and try to keep him away from the danger in battle._

Lady Stark would definitely make Jon problems if something happened to her oldest son.

* * *

They arrived at the Golden Tooth two weeks later. After scouting the terrain Robb pointed something out that could help them out in the evening.

“Grey Wind found it,” he explained to the gathered commanders. Lady Stark had been sent by Robb to negotiate with King Renly Baratheon who was taking his sweet time to march on King’s Landing. “It’s a small goat path wide enough for a ridden horse. We could use it to avoid the Golden Tooth all together.”

The Golden Tooth wasn’t a big castle, but it was strongly fortified on a rocky hill. The seat of House Lefford blocked the River Road and therefore the safe passage between the River- and Westerlands.

“Could we attack from the back?” Edmure asked and therefore voicing Jon’s thoughts. “What if we use Wun Wun, the Giant I mean.”

Wun Wun had made quick friends with many of the younger and more adventurous noblemen and common soldiers. They were especially impressed by his unquenchable thirst for booze. He was apparently becoming a real problem for their storages.

Val on the other side had become the target several advances and proposals in the first two days. After roughly denying everyone she had decided to either remain with Jon or the Mormont women.

“No,” interrupted Lord Bracken. “Unless the guards are sleeping, he will be hard pressed to reach the gate. The Walls on the other side are too high.”

“Aye,” agreed the Blackfish. “Both sides of the road should be liberally enlightened by torches. This is not the only way in the Westerlands after all. We should just use the path in the night and directly go for Ashford.”

Jon wasn’t happy with leaving the Golden Tooth behind and leaving their backs unprotected, but he didn’t have an alternative either at the moment.

In the night all seven thousand of them sneaked along the goat path. Wun Wun did have to squeeze a bit but in the end, he managed to pass through the small track as well.

* * *

Two days after they entered the Westerlands they decided to split the host up in two. Robb would move with six thousand men on Sarsfield to the south-west.

Jon would command one thousand riders. First, he wanted to unite with the young Lord Volmark to conquer Ashemark and solidify the Ironborn’s control of the northern Westerlands around the Pendric Hills. Then he would meet Asha and Ser Harras near Castamere.

Afterwards the two groups would reunite to march for Lannisport and nearby Casterly Rock.


	29. Ashemark (Jon XX)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content towards the end.  
> 

They arrived at Ashemark after five days of fast travel. Their first goal was to find Lord Maron and his men. Jon assumed them to camp somewhat nearby but he did not know any specifics. He thought it best to just take his guards and use Blueberry’s eyes in the air. After not finding anything the entire morning they waited until night. Blue jays could not see very well in the dark, but she had to do.

After roughly three hours of flying circles and scouting out every source of light nearby they finally found the Ironborn. Lord Maron had roughly 150 men under his command, much less then Jon’s contingent of about one thousand but they would be a great help anyway.

Ashemark sat on a small hill in the Tumblestone valley. Grey banners with an orange burning tree in the centre were seen all over the place. Its walls and important buildings were constructed with rough grey granite. The houses, guard towers and main keep were topped by roofs of white birch wood which gave the seat of House Marbrand its name.

The gates were made from the same tree. It was also the entryway for the Three Crowns men as the alliance of Jon, Robb and Edmure had been coined by the common folk. They would use the basics of the strategy that the King of the Trident had proposed for the taking of the Golden Tooth.

“Now!” Jon whispered to Val who was as always dressed in white, only in leather this time instead of a less practical dress or robe.

Val gave the command translated to the Old Tongue to Wun Wun. Jon could more or less understand her last-minute instructions. He was learning the Old Tongue as fast as possible from the spearwife.

The Giant tried to hush towards the gate as silently as possible. The rest of the men following with many on horse.

It didn’t work. The Marbrand guards had known of the Ironborn invasion since weeks and were very attentive. Loud screams came from the walls when Wun Wun was still fifty meters away from the gate.

He accelerated and reached the passageway before the first arrows had been fired on him.

“Raaawh!” Wun Wun roared and smashed the pale wood with his giant metal-coated club. The doors caved inwards. The giant let his club fall to the side, grabbed the right of the two broken parts of the gate and ripped it from its hinges.

“Attack!” Jon ordered and rode as the first one into the castle. His men swarmed after him and soon after the entire open ground between the cracked gate and the main keep was in their control. The Marbrand guards on foot had all moved onto the walls or inside the fortified buildings.

“Men! Let’s seize the walls back!” Lord Maron’s command came. His one hundred fifty Ironborn moved up the next steps and pushed against the stationed Westerlanders.

Jon meanwhile took one hundred of his riders towards the keep itself. The defenders had lacked the time to organise their troops, so a swift rush was the best option. The rest of the soldiers were to slay the enemies on the walls and in the barracks and frisk the other buildings.

Dagon was the first one off his horse and swiftly beheaded the first guard in his range. Ghost leaped towards the second and tore out his throat. Jon was worried that the direwolf could be hit by a stray arrow, but those were the risks of battle.

Jon originally wanted to be the first inside the building, but Dagon had successfully convinced him that half of his guards should lead the vanguard to trip possible ambushes in the unknown layout.

He barely fought himself with the few armed men in their way quickly getting put down. He slew only two more experienced defenders who had both been occupied by one of his guards.

Just before they were able to enter the main hall of the keep a dozen men in full plate mail with the orange burning tree on their breast rushed outside. In the centre stood man in ornate armour who Jon guessed to be past fifty name days.

“I am Lord Damon Marbrand!” the man boomed proudly. “Who dares to attack my lands and keep?”

Jon wasn’t someone to cower, so he shoved himself through his men. “King Jon Stark of the Isles,” he announced himself.

Lord Marbrand looked intrigued for a bit until he formed a resolute expression. “The bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, now crowned leader of the iron scum… Come here and face me like true man, youngling, duel to the death.”

The ruler of Ashemark was a bit too confident in Jon’s opinion, however if the Westerlander won the Three Crowns would be one short. Additionally, Jon was a second’s current heir, even though Lord Marbrand couldn’t have knowledge of this. The consequences of his death would be unacceptable.

On the other side he felt his honour as a warrior and man attacked. Jon’s guard did not try to argue against Jon taking up the offer, interestingly.

_They are either believing in me as a fighter or expect me to win because I am their King. I must accept to not disappoint them._

“Alright,” he accepted. “If I win all your men shall surrender. Your family won’t be harmed, I promise as a knight.”

“You’re a knight? You surely don’t hold to the Seven.”

“Aye, knighted by Ser Jorah Mormont.” Jon doubted that any of the Ironborn or Westerlanders present knew that the man had been exiled for slavery.

“Let’s move to the yard and stop the fighting then,” Lord Marbrand spoke.

Surprisingly easy they had managed to stop the nearest fighting on both sides. It was clear that the Marbrand guards had been in considerably worse shape. The duel gave them a reprieve, not that it should matter. They had even found the septon to rule over the duel who first had to recite several prayers in reaction to Wun Wun and Ghost.

Both Jon and Lord Marbrand swore on the Old and the New Gods to fight just and give up together with their men if they yielded. A duel of the death could be problematic because the losing side lacking a leader that would organize the surrender. Jon even also swore on the Drowned God to vanquish all doubts.

Lord Marbrand was older and not in the prime of his life anymore but the man quickly proved himself to be an experienced swordsman. But Jon wasn’t a slouch either. His biggest disadvantage was his lack of steel armour and shield. After the first parries and blocks he vowed himself to never go without a shield into battle again.

In the end Jon’s plan for the duel was simple. He played passive and defensive using his superior agility and reach to tire out his heavily armoured older opponent over time.

Jon had a lapse in his concentration which earned him a small cut to the thigh but nothing serious. He tried to repost after Lord Marbrand overextended himself with a heavy downwards slash but the shield showing the burning tree stopped it and all following attacks.

After not even five minutes the man only huffed and puffed, and Jon finally went on the offence. A swift hit on Lord Marbrand’s right hand took away his sword which Jon then kicked away.

“Do you yield?” Jon asked. The outcome of the match was clear for everybody including the silent but saddened septon.

“Surrendering my home, family and people to a bunch of reavers and rapists? Ha!” Lord Marbrand laughed hollowly. “Men, kill these fucking bastards!”

Immediately the Westerlanders charged, some cutting down Jon’s already cheering men and suddenly everyone was fighting. Jon was happy to get up his guard before he was reached by the first adversary.

_Fuck! Fucking scum!_

Jon was mad like never in his life before, furious at himself, at his own foolishness but also the dishonesty of Lord Marbrand and his men. He fuelled his emotion into his moves beheading the first opponent in front of him.

„Kill them all!” Jon yelled while driving the tip of his sword deep into some man’s eye. “Take no fucking prisoners!”

After half a dozen corpses he got himself a short breathing pause and tried to get a glimpse on the situation.

Jon saw in his eye corner Val throwing a knife in a man’s eye from a few meters away which assured him of her safety. She obviously had everything under control and wisely stood a bit removed from the core of the battle.

Wun Wun was nearby completely enraged, roaring and swinging his club around wildly smashing several enemies at once.

His men were winning many of them in a better condition than their adversaries, but the price was still too high

 _All these deaths were avoidable_ , he knew.

After stabbing a man in the back who fought one of his guards, Jon finally spotted Lord Marbrand in the chaos. The man had found his sword and was hiding behind his household guard to the back.

_I will kill him!_

It was like Jon was possessed, no one could touch him as he slowly butchered himself through the Westerlanders. A stroke into the side killed the last man in his way.

“Squid!” Lord Marbrand did not look as brave as before. Almost all his men laid on the ground already. Wun Wun had probably done most of the work.

The man tried to cut Jon from his shoulder downwards in half, but Jon leaped forward into his range and grabbed the man’s sword hand with his own free left. Lord Marbrand tried to bash him with his shield but Jon pushed against the wood with his body pre-emptively. Jon took a step back while swinging his bastard sword in a swish upwards. The tip penetrated Lord Marbrand open mouth and exited on the other side. The noble fell to the ground, but Jon did not stop, repeatedly hitting the dead body.

“Jon.”

Again, and again his steel blade fell, his anger still hadn’t been quelled.

“Jon!” He looked up from the unrecognisable shape to the person who had gripped his hands tightly. It was Val, beautiful Val with blood all over her face.

“You are so pretty, you know that?” he said instinctively, not quite in his right mind.

Val giggled, a sound that brought Jon out of his dazed state. “Thank you, my bloody wolf.”

A quick glance around showed him the situation. Only Northman and Ironborn including a few of his own guard were left standing. Wun Wun seemed alright and so did Ghost who stood just a few steps behind him with questioning eyes.

“Let us… round up everyone left,” Jon spoke. “I want the Marbrands in chains before me. Everyone here can take what he can find and carry.”

The last sentence resulted in loud cheers from the remaining soldiers.

The plundering turned out to be quite bloody. Screams, mostly female haled through the entire castle. Jon couldn’t bring himself to care.

 _It’s their own fault_ was his only thought while leaning against Val. They were sitting on the edge of the central cistern. The spearwife did not seem too uncomfortable with their position. She had even kneeled next to him for a short time to look over his wounds, cleaning and bandaging the worse ones on his limbs and torso.

 _If I wouldn’t be married…_ Asha had said that she did not need him to be faithful to her, but it was Jon’s own expectation of himself that stopped his imagination. He would do what his father and so many other men weren’t able to accomplish.

Overall, Jon had lost a third of his men. Many of the Ashemark guards seemed to have fled before the duel or when the outcome of the melee in the courtyard had become clear for them. Jon had learned to never negotiate again during a battle that he was destined. Either the enemy surrendered on the spot or he wouldn’t stop the fighting until the enemy was permanently subdued. Sadly, they were only able to take one noble prisoner of note. Lady Alyna Marbrand was late Lord Marbrand’s wife. Lady Darlessa, his niece and widowed good-sister of Lord Tywin Lannister had fled for Casterly Rock after the news of the Ironborn reached Ashemark and the heir Ser Addam was part of the Lannister army on the field. Jon decided to give the older woman to Edmure who had already taken a few important men, woman and children as prisoners.

They departed for Castamere the next day. They needed a bit longer than originally intended for the journey because they had to transport their loot from Ashemark. Additionally, a quarter of their remaining men had been injured quite heavily.

A few Ironborn even took female prisoners with them as future salt wives. Jon had proclaimed that they should all be either unmarried or widowed and without children. He wasn’t quite sure how many women were not let go against his orders but since the battle he didn’t feel that he was able to punish his disobedient. Val and Dagon said that the vast majority of soldiers didn’t fault him for his attempt to minimize the bloodshed, the main reason being that Jon had rather clearly won the duel against the falsely swearing Lord of Ashemark.

* * *

“You are quite early,” Asha greeted him ten days later outside the mining settlement she and her men occupied. The castle named Castamere nearby had famously been destroyed by Lord Tywin Lannister and wasn’t very useful. “Harras hasn’t arrived yet but he should be here by next week.”

“Good. You can lead all men in fighting shape to Sarsfield and unite with my brother’s six thousand men. He’s the King in the North now. His uncle Edmure Tully styles himself King of the Trident,” Jon explained.

“Tully? Why would anybody follow him?” Asha asked with a confused expression.

“Don’t know it myself really,” he answered. “Apparently most of his supporters are his friends and the Lords of the Riverlands seem generally fed up with every great conflict in the Seven Kingdoms happening inside their borders.”

“Oh, I guess that’s understandable.”

Asha led Jon into a bigger wooden house, that she was seemingly occupying. They entered a room that was filled with clothes and equipment that Jon recognized as his wife’s. In the corner was a wider bed, likely used by the village head before the Ironborn came. The two of them sat down at a small table on two simple chairs and talked about what happened since they left Pyke and discussed their plans for the coming weeks afterwards.

“I will take the loot from you and my men and travel to Pyke. I want to settle a few Free Folk tribes in the Westerlanders, the sooner the better,” Jon explained.

Asha giggled. “When you make halt at the Crag don’t forget to take my present with you.”

“Present?” Jon had no idea what she was talking about.

“Aye, we need leverage to keep House Westerling from betraying us. They agreed to give us their older daughter Jeyne as hostage. You shall take her as salt wife.”

“What? I don’t want one!” Jon explained shocked. “I never agreed to this.”

“But I did,” Asha replied in a stern tone. “It was even my idea. Do you really think the Ironborn will just continue to accept you as their leader just because you won the Kingsmoot?”

 _I did actually_ , Jon thought and almost answered as such. He closed his mouth though after seeing Asha’s reaction.

“Jon, you are still a foreigner! A true Stark now even. Do you know how many past High Kings have been betrayed and murdered by would-be successors? You need to appear more like us from now on. You will take Jeyne as salt wife as a start. She’s a sweet girl don’t worry, and her mother gave her away without even pretending to be scared about her being raped and abused for the rest of her life.” Asha spoke.

Jon didn’t know what to answer. His wife, _rock_ wife, had apparently thought about this quite deeply and he could hardly refute her reasoning for it was rather sound.

“Did you fuck Val at least?” Asha asked slowly, Jon wasn’t sure if he imagined her threatening undertone and what it could mean.

“No! Of course not,” he exclaimed quickly. “I would never do that to you…”

“It’s fine,” Asha said brusquely trying to wave his concerns away with her left hand. “I already gave her my approval.”

Jon was completely confused now. He had though that the two of them had built up a rather deep bond with Serra’s birth.

_Why is she forcing me on others?_

“Do you… not want to be with me anymore?” he asked and wasn’t able to supress the hurt he felt.

Jon did like her and had honestly missed their wilder couplings that had been stopped over eight months ago because of their different whereabouts and Asha’s pregnancy.

Suddenly he received a hug and a forceful kiss on his mouth. After Asha took a step back, she smiled him. It wasn’t a happy one, it rather looked accepting and a bit sad, an unusual expression for her.

“I am not doing this because I hate you,” she said softly. “You’re my husband and the father of my child… I want this because it will help keeping you and Serra safe. I don’t worry about you setting me aside, I trust you.”

Jon barely managed to stop his tears from flowing after comprehending Asha’s emotional words and quickly hugged her as well. He kissed her on the lips and she immediately reciprocated.

They somehow were able to find the makeshift mattress from straw while removing their boots, tunics, belts, breeches and undergarment in that order.

Asha was below Jon and clutching his backside when he entered her wet sex. Until now they had never kissed each other on the mouth in bed except for short pecks. Now they barely were able to disconnect their lips to breathe in while they moved both wildly at the other. Instead of the usual detached comments, positive and negative, about their partner’s performance they exchanged caresses.

“Jon, please! Deeper! Harder! I want to feel you!” Asha cried clutching his backside.

Their rhythm was chaotic and desperate. It was as if they were trying to become truly one.

“Asha, I…” Jon gasped and decided to voice his wish. “Gift me another child, like our perfect Serra!”

“I am your rock wife!” Asha replied passionately with her dark eyes wide open. “My womb is yours to fill, husband. Just give me your seed…”

When he heard her begging reply Jon couldn’t contain himself anymore. He thrusted as hard and as deep as he could without trying to hurt her.

“You’re going to get me thick with your babe again,” Asha mewled out of breath. “You want to make my belly fat and round?!”

Jon saw a picture of Asha in the last days of her first pregnancy flash before his eyes and that was too much. He stilled when he came deep inside her tightening cunt painting the inside white.

After he was finished, Jon collapsed next to his woman in exhaustion but still with a wide smile. He has never been this tired following the first round in the past.

Asha moved besides him from her back and climbed upon him.

She kissed him with a sly expression.

“Let this woman serve her King for once,” she whispered, and her lips wandered downwards. First, they touched his neck then the middle of his chest, his stomach until she reached his groin.

A kiss on the tip of his manhood brought it almost immediately back to life. Jon himself didn’t quite know what to do. Jon had never received such treatment from Asha or anyone else before. He settled on only petting the back of her head lightly with the fingers of his right hand, so she was able to work her magic.

Asha took him in his mouth gently now, only the upper third though while stroking the rest of shaft with her hands. Slowly, she moved her head up and down, so that she swallowed more and more of his cock.

“Ahh… Asha…” Jon got out feeling a new kind of pleasure.

He hit the back of her throat now and couldn’t help but push her head down even more with his hand. Asha didn’t complain and started to move herself up and down faster and faster without letting out any comprehendible tones. Only Jon’s moans and the choking sounds and slurps that escaped Asha’s lips were heard for the next few minutes.

“I can’t hold it anymore,” Jon warned honestly but Asha only responded by tightening her mouth and cupping his balls with one hand. Her eyes were inexpressively staring up into his. It was maddening, in a good way.

In the end he sprayed his seed inside her closed mouth. Asha took it all and then opened her mouth for him to see his seed before loudly gulping it down without making a face of disgust that Jon had expected. She ‘cleaned’ his dick with her tongue afterwards, ending with a long kiss to the tip.

“Did you like my performance, my King?” Asha asked with faked coyness, her eyes hooded and head lowered submissively.

“Yes,” Jon exclaimed with a wide grin on his face. “Thank you… my Queen.”

His wife giggled and moved into his arms, so they were able embrace each other tightly.

Asha broke their content silence after several minutes. “Hmmm, maybe you can bring little Jeyne to suck your cock diligently while your away.”

Jon didn’t know how to answer his wife. He did not long after another woman after this passionate reunion.

“You’re enough me to be happy,” he replied which earned him a kiss on the lips.

“I know.”


	30. Power (Jon XXI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes Jeyne Westerling as salt wife on Pyke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT!
> 
> This chapter contains sexual scenes, depending on your interpretation at least one, possibly two depict rape (possibly dubious consent and clearly non-given consent).
> 
> If you want you can skip these by stopping to read after the wedding ceremony.
> 
> I personally wanted to describe the darker and unethical side of the Iron Islands and other elemtents in this tale and ASOIAF itself. I believe the scenes to be plot relevant but not completely necessary for the comprehension of the rest of the story.

Jeyne Westerling was way too young for Jon. That had been his first impression of him. He couldn’t ignore though that she had a pretty face and body, a true noblewoman in the making. His intended second wife also didn’t manage to say a single sentence to him, she only communicated with small nods and head shakes, so shy she appeared to be.

After his and Asha’s new ‘understanding’ of their marriage he didn’t really want to take the girl as his salt wife but considering that his ‘true’ wife vehemently insisted on it he had in the end agreed. Jon wasn’t quite sure if Asha did not just want to conceal her possibly emerging warmer feelings towards him, even if they were only created through Serra. He did understand that being a cold-hearted Ironborn captain was part of her self-determined identity. Asha likely feared ‘becoming soft’.

The Black Wind they had used for the voyage had arrived at Pyke on the last day of the eleventh month, trailed by three other longships. Jon had given Jeyne Asha’s captains room and slept with the common men in a simple cot. He had even convinced her to bring all her much-loved things to her new home, so the girl didn’t feel too home sick.

“Are you ready?” he asked her as he grasped her by the arm. Jeyne in her star-spangled sandy dress hadn’t made any attempts to move over the plank that connected Asha’s ship to the quay of Lordsport.

She didn’t react at all, so Jon went in front of her. Jeyne’s lips were pressed together, and her eyes squeezed watery, soon the first tears flowed down her rosy cheeks.

 _This…_ Jon didn’t know how to consolidate his sobbing wife-to-be. Until now she didn’t even say a single sentence to him, she only blushed and cowered. He swiftly grabbed both her hands tightly and pulled them away from her face.

“Am I really the worst man you could end up with?”

Jeyne didn’t answer but at least she looked up to his.

“Hmmm,” he continued. “You could also become Lord Walder Frey’s ninth wife instead of my second. I think the nipper just celebrated his ninety-first name day.”

His jest was followed by a small upwards twitch from her lips. It seemed this arrangment could work out better than he had feared.

“See, it’s not all bad. You can visit your family whenever you want. You don't even have to see me ever again if you can't stand this island. The war will soon be over, I am convinced of it.”

She just nodded lightly and Jon led her easily over the plank.

“I will prompt that your stuff is brought to your own room by evening.”

Ghost walked in front of them forcing their road up the hill to be rather uneventful bar a few shouts. He had asked his companion to spend some time with the Westerling daughter, so she wasn’t always alone in her room.

“It’s the King!”

“King Jon has returned!”

“Who’s that young lass? A pretty one. Ha!”

“Must be a salt wife from the Westerlands. They sure don’t make them like that here on the Isles…”

After hearing the more indecent comments Jeyne blushed and tried to her face by hiding it behind her hands and looking to the ground.

After their ascension they entered the Great Keep over the stone bridge. Jeyne tried to take in her new residence with wide eyes.

Jon led her through the Great Hall and up the stairs. On the second floor they entered a chamber that was guarded by one guard in black and red leather armour on each side of the door with Jon’s coat-of-arms on the breast.

Next to the only window of the room stood a crib. In it was a girl with silver girl who was laughing while trying to grab with her tiny hands at Blueberry fluttering above her. Jon had sent the bird ahead to check on his daughter.

“Her name is Serra,” he said when he took the babe in his arms and rocked her a bit. “She is three and a half months old.”

“Waaaah!” Serra started crying immediately.

“My little Princess… What is wrong?”

Jon had no idea to react to the mad toddler. He had never actually spent time alone with his daughter until now. There had always been Asha, Alannys or the wet nurse with him.

“Give her to me,” a gentle voice said. A moment later Jeyne had the screaming Serra in her arms. A few light sways later Jon’s daughter was completely silent with a small smile on her face.

“How did you…” Jon started.

“My sister and younger brother, Your Grace,” Jeyne replied submissively who then started cooing at the babe. “Don’t you have the most beautiful hair, little Serra.”

“Guglu!”

Jeyne turned to Jon now with a questioning gaze. “She looks Valyrian, my King.”

He understood her puzzlement. “I don’t know my mother, probably never will now with my father dead,” he explained. “Someone told me she was probably Ashara Dayne.”

Jeyne nodded though she didn’t seem completely convinced for whatever reason.

Jon leaned against the wall and watched the now much happier Jeyne take care of little Serra. It seemed to him that the girl wouldn’t wallow in complete misery on Pyke.

* * *

He travelled to the western part of Pyke in the evening to meet the Free Folk that had arrived there in the past month. Jon had asked Lord Baelor to bring the Thenns and cave dwellers among others southwards. He did have plans for them.

Tormund Giantsbane was the supposed leader of the current group of inhabitants of the large camp. Overall, it amounted to about ten thousand men, women and children.

Jon quickly came to his main points after the two had sat down around a campfire. He even brought some stronger ale with him for Tormund’s love for booze was well known to him.

“My men are fighting in the great war on the mainland,” Jon explained. “And closest to us on the shore lays a very fortified castle named the Banefort.”

“Ah!” Tormund explained jovially. “You want us to seize it for you then?”

Jon shook his head. He would give them more incentive than that. The castle had to fall but he wasn’t ready to sacrifice his own men for it. He knew that Lord Banefort had prepared for a siege and had years of supplies stored before Ser Harras had started the siege.

“If you conquer it you remain to live there. Mance even supports this move. You will be Lord Tormund Giantsbane of the Banefort and the peninsula surrounding it.” He didn’t say that significantly less lands would be owned by the ruler of the Banefort than currently or in the past. He doubted Tormund would even care much, possession of land wasn’t something they understood.

The white-bearded man laughed loudly. “What do I want with this Banefort, and what with the land? The Free Folk doesn’t believe in those things. We take what we want.”

Jon had expected such an answer. It was the classic stuff that Val also tended to say.

_We will see how that works out in two generations…_

“Aye, Tormund, but don’t you have a big family? What about all the men, women and children that have put their trust in you to find them a new safe home?”

The older warrior’s face turned serious. He was obviously thinking about the proposal for real now. Jon was sure that he would eventually accept.

All this talk about freedom was only an excuse for the lawless chaos they lived in Beyond-the-Wall. The Free Folk would move to the new lands Jon gave to them and they would probably start immediately intermarrying with the Ironborn and the Westerlanders, their more civilized parents would teach them the culture of their new home. After less than a century most of the Free Folk would be integrated successfully. The same thing had happened to the Andals and First Men below the Neck and many other cultures all over the world when immigrants settled down on already occupied lands. Both societies would merge into a new one with the stronger one usually dominating the lesser in continued practices. Jon was convinced it would happen with the Free Folk as well. They were human in the end too.

“Hmmm, Lord Tormund Thunderfist of the Giantsbanefort… Yes, yes, it does sound good!”

Jon smiled. If the famed man would accept to be a vassal of him surely the rest of his people would be more open to such a relationship too.

“Who can I lead to my new stone castle,” Tormund questioned him.

“All you trust and want to live with. I have plans for the Thenns, cave dwellers and Giants though. You can take for the conquest everyone here right now. I would ask you to not settle down the more hotblooded ones even if they could help with the attack. House Estren and Westerling would be your new neighbours and they are under my protection, as would you and your new vassals if you succeed.”

“Vassals? Ha!” Tormund boomed. “Alright I will task everyone present except those crazies of the Frozen Shore and the ice-rivers, Mother Mole’s and your Thenns and cave dwellers! Many are getting bored in this shithole and want to take their new lands with their own hands.”

Jon assumed the same and had even worried about the issue. He had instructed Lord Baelor to try bringing mainly the less violent tribes at Westwatch southwards. Fortunately, he hadn’t heard of many transgressions against the smallfolk until now as he had initially feared. Lord Botley’s heir Harren had beheaded a dozen rapists and thieves without a hint of mercy over the last two months. Jon hadn’t complained because the dead criminals were likely to cause much more trouble on the mainland. It was only pragmatic to weed out the worst ones before the Free Folk was set free on the citizens of the Seven Kingdoms. The executions also helped to drive into the minds of the fleeing people from Beyond-the-Wall that in these foreign lands different laws and traditions applied.

“Alright, I will prepare ships for you all in one week. You will receive instructions and support by Lord Botley and his sons. They will also organize the voyage.”

* * *

After the talk with Tormund Jon moved to the Thenns’ section of the camp. The people of the valley at the spring of the Milkwater were far more advanced than the rest of Free Folk. They already lived in a pre-feudal society led by a man, possibly also a woman, that wore the inheritable title of ‘Magnar’ which meant ‘Lord’ in the Old Tongue. This was also the reason why he wanted to settle them down on Fair Isle. The Ironborn of Orkmont were supposed to occupy the isles but they only controlled the northern half of it. Additionally, Lord Orkwood and Lord Trawney had died in a disastrous and stupid frontal attack on Faircastle, the seat of House Farman that ruled Fair Isle.

The current Magnar of Thenn was named Styr. Styr was a tall and lean man. He was clean shaven and bald, with grey eyes and a straight nose, but what stood out the most was his lack of ears. Styr wore bronze scale armour and a helm. He also wielded a weirwood spear with an ornate bronze head when Jon met him alone in his leather tent. Val had told him that the man ruled with an iron fist and commanded absolute loyalty from his men, therefore the Magnar surely knew how to use his weapon.

Jon slowly explained to him that he wanted to settle down the Thenns on Fair Isle. His proposal wasn’t received very well though.

“I am Magnar,” Styr spoke resolutely in his broken Common Tongue. “Magnar is man above all. I am man above all other men. Me not be ruled by Magnar Stark. Thenns not be ruled by Magnar Stark. Thenns do not want to share new lands with weak kneelers! Magnar want own land, like green valley.”

He tried to convince Styr, but the bald man was steadfast. Apparently, the Magnars were chosen by the Old Gods and according to the current one they would never bow to an inferior man from the south like Jon.

 _It’s the Stepstones then_ , Jon concluded with disappointment.

At least he was able to win the resident cave dwellers for him, numbering less than three thousand. There were many abandoned mines, mostly for gold and silver, in the Westerlands. Jon would lead the different clans to some that they could claim as their own. The strange pale skinned people would mine metals from their homes and give them in exchange for food to Jon. The metals themselves would of course be much more valuable than what the cave dwellers would receive, so Jon was looking forward to the great new source of wealth in the near future.

* * *

On the twelfth day of the twelfth month Jon arrived back at Pyke. He had visited the Iron Arsenal for the launch of its war galley. It had been a smaller one made from common wood, more of a practice run for all new workers of the shipyard. Administrator Nevio had promised that they would start producing the bigger ships for the Iron Fleet in a month and posed his request for additional Free Folk workers which Jon granted.

He was greeted by sour news on Pyke. Victarion Greyjoy had disregarded his orders and attacked the Lannister fleet in Casterly Bay. The Iron Fleet had suffered heavy losses, as did their opponents, resulting in a draw. Both had returned for reparations to the captured Kayce and Lannisport respectively. Jon was mad enough to throw a cup at the wall of his solar frightening Jeyne who had basically turned into his assistant and servant girl when he was in the castle. Their small wedding ceremony had been scheduled for the next day. Jon wanted to giver Jeyne some time to acclimatize herself to her new home.

Victarion had ignored his King's direct orders and now had to pay the price for insubordination. Unfortunately, the brute was admired and enjoyed great support from many captains, including those of the Iron Fleet’s. Jon believed it to be smarter to promote a more trusted person to the position of the rebuilt Iron Fleet after the war was over. Considering that the ships were now bound to the Strait of Fair Isle, there was no advantage to be found in a quick decision. Fortunately, the battle hadn’t been a loss which could have endangered their hold on the Westerlands.

* * *

The wedding with a salt wife was much simpler than the ceremony with the more important Ironborn rock wife. This one was done in the training yard in front of the entire household.

Jon wore almost the same clothes he had for his joining for Asha at the nearby shore, the weirwood crown on his head. Jeyne had arrived only shortly before in beautiful thin white grown with embroidered golden seashells on it. Her hair and face were partly hidden by a traditional southern bride veil. She even wore a self-made wedding cloak with the coat-of-arms of House Westerling on her back. Jon had agreed to exchange it for one made by a few accomplished seamstresses. It was surprisingly not uncommon to honour the faith of the bride, especially if she was consenting to the marriage.

The man and – generally unwilling – woman only had to be sprinkled by sea water from the same container by a priest of the Drowned God that also recited the usual prayer. For Jeyne and Jon this was done by the always resident drowned man of Pyke who was named Urrion.

Jon slowly removed Jeyne’s cloak and put his own on her. The he gently picked up Jeyne’s white veil. Her expression was now clear to see. She showed him a forced smile which didn’t reach her eyes and revealed her discomfort with the current event that would debase her for the rest of her life in the eyes of most. Salt wives were generally seen as glorified pleasure slaves and often treated as such. Jon hoped however that he had been able to convince Jeyne that she wouldn’t receive a sad future under him.

“I, King Jon Stark, promise on the Drowned God, and the Old and the New,” Jon vowed afterwards, “to keep this salt wife safe, warm and fed for which the iron price was paid.”

The bride wasn’t needed to swear but some pious women of the Faith chose so regardless. Jeyne was one of them. “Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone and Stranger, please witness and bless my union with this man who I vow to serve and warm.” Her words weren’t the ones usually used but they would surely do in Jon’s opinion.

Then Jeyne hastily mumbled, “with this kiss I pledge my love.” A quick peck on his lips shocked Jon for a moment after which he couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at the nervously looking Jeyne while cheers came from the two dozen onlookers.

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” he reciprocated and followed up with short light kiss as well.

The feast in the Great Hall afterwards was far from extravagant but well spiced meat, exotic fruits and the most expensive wine seized in the Westerlands were served. The great mood had been boosted by the positive developing war and the free alcohol. Jeyne on the other side next to Jon got twitchier and paler over the feast. Jon was surprised that she hadn’t lost consciousness when he carried her to his chamber in the Great Keep. It was also Asha’s and the same one the two of them had used for their bedding. Jon felt it wasn’t right to take Jeyne’s maidenhead in a dusty cold room on another islet of the castle.

Jon wanted to appear confident and decided to take charge. First, he stripped himself bare nonchalantly then he moved on his wide-eyed bride staring at his half-erect manhood between his legs.

“You like it?” he asked in a jesting tone.

Jeyne yipped and turned away instantaneously. This however allowed Jon only better access to take first of her black-red-white wedding cloak and move on to loosen the white gown. After it dropped to the floored Jon helped the shivering young woman in her undergarments to step out of it and led her to stand next to the bed.

“Undress!” The order came out sharer than intended, but Jon wanted to be in power for once. Asha only let him do what she approved of. He desired to experience something different with Jeyne. He would still try his best to make it pleasuring for both of them.

 _Maybe Asha wants me to take charge with Jeyne, so she can be the dominant one with me_ , he mused.

“Y-yes, Your Grace.”

Her whimpered reply got Jon truly hard and his blood hot. He was still a man in the end and wasn't ashamed from his urges anymore.

“Lay yourself on the bed and make yourself comfortable. I promise to not hurt you willfully.”

When he moved after her and took the sigh of her in, he couldn’t help but swallow. Jeyne tried hide her breasts with her hands and clenched her legs together still revealing her sex to him. Her tits were a bit bigger than Asha’s in the past, although smaller after her pregnancy. The area around her cunt was clean shaven in opposition to Asha. If he was honest with himself, Jon liked the view Jeyne more than the one of his naked rock wife. He quickly tried to banish any thoughts of Asha from his mind, however. Jon still was a bit uncomfortable with this new arrangement.

He climbed upon Jeyne and his fingers dipped between her legs. She was wet, not soaked, but still clearly aroused. A quick touch resulted in a small gasp-

Afterwards Jon grabbed her hands and pushed them above Jeyne’s head. Her nipples were a bit perky, but her expression was completely scared.

“Ready?” he asked. "I can also wait for another time..."

“I-It won’t fit, Your Grace.”

“Call me Jon, or husband at least.” Then his cock entered her. He wasn’t rough but also not the gentlest he could be. He immediately hit and broke through the proof of her maidenhood. Asha had told him to be quick for the first time. Apparently, she doubted his skill as a lover.

“Kyah!” Jeyne screamed and started to sob.

She was truly tight, much tighter than Asha. He waited until Jeyne had relaxed her muscles a bit and stopped her cries until he pushed deeper inside tunnel. This was a different experience altogether for him.

_I guess this is what Asha feels when she is control… No wonder she always wants to be in charge._

After several minutes of rythmic slow thrusting Jon spilled himself in his now moaning salt wife. He even thought about going for a second round until he noticed Jeyne’s tired expression. A softer approach was more appropriate with her.

"Did you enjoy it, Jeyne?" Jon asked the young woman next him.

She shifted around a bit to look at him. No answer came but she forced an exhausted smile on her reddened face and managed a small nod.

Jeyne fell asleep quickly aferards, but Jon needed a bit longer. He was still thinking about the failed taking of Fair Isle. The people there were supposed to be stubborn. The smallfolk had risen several times in history against the Ironborn occupying the isle, more than once with success.

_Maybe I could ask Mance…_

The King-beyond-the-Wall seemed rather freedom-loving but also pragmatic and competent. Jon decided to send a message for him with the next convoy to Westwatch led by the Lord Merlyn of Pebbleton.

* * *

Shortly after he had drifted into sleep’s embrace he woke up in Ghost’s body as a mere passenger. The direwolf had decided to stay with the Free Folk, probably because many of the women and children adored him, also giving him more meat than he could eat.

Jon was immediately overwhelmed with strange emotions and smells. Everything was shaking rhythmically and his blood run hot like never before.

After a few seconds of sensory overload, he finally comprehended what frightening thing was happening: Ghost was mating with a bitch.

_I need to get out!_

Jon didn’t want to live with the memories he was currently collecting for the rest of his life. In his panic he didn’t find the connection to his body immediately. He now had an eternal understanding of canine reproduction practices.

After around half a minute he was finally able to find his true body inside him again and forced himself back.

His blood was immediately on fire after his eyes opened. He was burning in agony with his ramrod straight cock feeling like it was about to burst. He glimpsed the sleeping body beside him. The soft bare flank was just _too_ enticing. He wanted her. He needed her.

He leaped for what was _his_ , tightly grasping her by the hips to forcefully push his chosen one from the side onto her bare belly. Not a moment later he rammed himself inside her as hard as he could. He heard a pained shriek but ignored it, only focused on the feeling of the bitch that he was mounting. It was maddening, in a great way. He pumped himself inside her, deeper and deeper into the opening between her legs. Soon he hit resistance, but it didn’t stop him, neither his energy, lust nor resolve was weakening.

His chosen mate jerked wildly around, as if to defend herself. She also began to give loud and continued screams and sobs from her. The bitch likely couldn’t contain her true joy of being properly taken by a true male.

He spilled himself inside her after minutes, but it wasn’t enough to still his lust. His mate had stopped moving by now, allowing himself to fuck her as he wanted. Over the next while he planted his essence inside her womb twice more wishing for his seed take hold. This mate could birth him many strong scions.

After the final discharge he felt completely exhausted. He didn’t slip outside of the one he had just blessed and just collapsed onto the still form below him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid misconception I will let a commenter explain the last part that many seem to misunderstand:
> 
> Setekhx on Chapter 30 Wed 26 Aug 2020 09:13PM EDT
> 
> People in the comment section seem to have missed the entire point of that last bit. Namely it's a clear carry over from warging into Ghost... Who was in the middle of mating. This is so blatantly obvious
> 
> Jon didn't just wake up and decide to rape Jeyne. He wasn't even thinking like a human being. That was residual from the warging... Which he now knows he absolutely needs one hundred percent control of or things get nasty real fast. Is it shitty that this happened to Jeyne. Yea. Yea it is. It's shitty and will have consequences. That's the point


	31. Magical Fallout (Jon XXII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Jon woke up sore but well-rested. The first thing he noticed was what the unusual warm shape he was crushing. A quick glance revealed that it was Jeyne on her belly. Her eyes were open, and shockingly bloodshot.

Considering his new salt wife’s delicate body, Jon rolled off her to the left, instantly prompting a small gasp and a flinch from the young woman.

When he looked at her, he saw the reason: the lower part of her back from her waist down was completely coloured in all shades of red and blue. It seemed especially bad on her hips which were both just giant purple bruises.

Jon didn’t understand how that could have happened.

_I am sure that I wasn’t that rough with-_

Suddenly pictures, scenes and feeling flashed in his head causing pain to pulse through his head. Some were clearly from Ghost, considering the _tantalizing_ taste of raw meat on Jon’s tongue and the well-known texture of grass and dirt under his feet. But some of it, the lust, the joy and this fulfilling sense of accomplishment and pride was different. They should have belonged to Ghost only, but this was a different sort of recall to the rest, much more real. These feelings had been partly been Jon’s himself last night, he recognized.

 _That was me!_ Jon realized shockingly, his memories of last night returning. _This was my fault! I hurt her!_

He didn’t know what to do. He never had intended to be this rough. Jeyne was his wife now. Hurting one’s wife was forbidden in the eyes of both the Old and the New Gods.

_I am damned to eternal punishment in the afterlife!_

The Gods were often cruel, maybe he would receive retribution for his sins soon.

After controlling his heavy breathing and emotions Jon focused his gaze back to the moveless form of Jeyne. Their eyes met, her brown ones were almost hollow.

_Should I apologize? Maybe she would get better if I leaver her alone for some time._

Jon had originally intended to depart for the Westerlands in two days. Moving his exit up a day was possible.

He wondered who he could ask to help with this situation. Almost no one knew that he was a skinchanger it would be rather unhelpful to explain the concept to someone who would just take his tale as a stupid excuse for his behaviour. In the end Jon was guilty. He had explored his bond with Ghost without proper guidance and this was the consequence. The Free Folk and Old Nan’s stories had warned him about the dangers of magic, but he had ignored all of them.

_I need to talk to Asha._

Jon trusted her and he had hidden his talent from her long enough already. Additionally, she was a woman, so she could likely give him better advice than any man and was hardened enough to not lose her mind.

_She will surely slap me, justified in every way…_

He finally decided to speak. “Jeyne?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The woman just grimaced a bit. Jon guessed her throat was completely sore.

He didn’t really know how to continue the conversation. An apology would come off as empty. It was necessary though to rebuild any sort of cordial relationship.

All of a sudden Jeyne shifted around to lay on her back. It must have pained her immensely but the neutral expression on her face barely changed. Then she moved her legs apart and pulled them up towards her shoulders completely barring her sex.

_Oh._

The area between her legs and her thighs were dark purple as well, dark red blood caked her opening, not all from her lost maidenhead.

The empty stare felt like an accusation, but Jon understood that her position was an offer, an invitation for her husband to take his liberties. He couldn’t speak, not managing to voice his refusal.

_Can I just reject her? I don’t want to feel her like she is abandoned after being used once._

He swiftly concluded that any form of sexual acts with her weren’t possible for the next few weeks or months considering the state she was already in. Her body needed time to heal, her mind too. Jon would give Jeyne as much time as she would need. He was even ready to let her alone for the rest of her life if she wished.

In the end he slowly crawled over the mattress towards his new salt wife. Jon gently grabbed her unbruised ankles and moved her legs back in a relaxed position with little force.

He kissed her forehead afterwards and let the fingers of his right hand brush through her tussled brown hair.

“Sorry,” Jon whispered in her closest ear. “I will do anything you wish to make up the pain I caused.”

Jeyne only blinked once at first, but eventually nodded lightly.

“You should probably not lie on your belly, so your bruises can heal faster.”

She turned away from him on her side barring her fair neck.

Jon promptly softly bit her there.

_Why the fuck did I do that?!_

It seemed like Ghost had left a part of him permanently behind. Jon imagined a raw steak to confirm the new issue and almost started drooling on Jeyne’s unmoving form below him.

Jon then left the bed and room without another word, directly going for Maester Qualen’s personal chamber to instruct him. He ordered the old man to help his new wife no matter the expenses.

The next two days he only visited the room with the sleeping Jeyne only once to lay a closed letter next to her on a cushion. He had instructed a guard to nail the one window of the room shut with slim bars because he had remembered countless tales of ill-treated salt wives trying to kill themselves. It was better if she felt like a prisoner than being dead.

Jon also payed several seamstresses to create some elaborate dresses as a gift. He asked to put the necessary stuff for needlework and various books into her room. Basically, everything Sansa loved. He hoped it was enough to earn her forgiveness, but knew better. He prayed to the Old Gods that she would at least be able to smile again soon.

* * *

A large convoy of ships departed Pyke on the morning of the twelfth day of the final month of the year. Tormund and his almost five thousand men, women and children were supposed to conquer the Banefort and settle down on the surrounding land.

After the ships had returned Jon boarded them with the three thousand cave dwellers and a small host of Ironborn, many of them had been injured and were now healthy enough to fight again.

Ghost had remained behind on Pyke. Jon had tried to instruct him to stay with Serra and Jeyne making sure they were safe. The decision was mainly caused by their new relationship, the bond deeper than before. By now Jon only needed to close his eyes for a few moments to see Ghost’s perspective. Distance didn’t seem to matter anymore, so he could look up his daughter and wife’s conditions at any time. If Jon was near the direwolf he would uncontrollably share parts of Ghost’s feelings, the stronger ones mostly like joy, sadness and hunger. It was maddening and scared him. Jon wasn’t sure if he could trust his own mind anymore. A spearwife had told him that wild direwolves had a thing for Free Folk flesh.

Approximately four thousand men arrived at the part of the coast closest to Tarbeck Hall, much closer to Lannisport and Robb’s complete host than if they had marched from the Crag south-eastwards.

Jon had landed separately and took one thousand cave dwellers of seven clans from the northern Frostfangs and showed them their new homes over the next two weeks.

The biggest cave dweller clan would settle down in the partly still flooded gold mines of Castamere while the second biggest was to live from now on in the pit of Nun’s Deep near Ashemark. The smaller five clans were spread on the remaining mining settlements of the Pendric Hills that weren’t claimed by either House Westerling in the west or House Estren in the north-east.

Afterwards he and his guard rode in pursuit of the host down the River Road that Dagmer Cleftjaw led. The seasoned veteran had been holding Tarbeck Hall before.

Because they had needed so long to distribute the cave dwellers, they weren’t able to catch them arriving in the combined big camp of Northmen, Riverlanders, Ironborn and Free Folk, four days of march away from Lannisport on the fifth day of the year 300 AC. The seat of House Lannister, the lone and massive Casterly Rock, was already visible on the horizon

* * *

Asha didn’t look very happy when she arrived in the royal tent of the Iron Islands, formerly used by Jon himself who was waiting there anxiously. She was dressed in almost the same clothes she had worn at Castamere

“Oh, see here, my husband returns at last,” she mocked with a frown. “What stories did I hear about our King raping noble maidens to death on their first night?”

Then she slapped him, thrice on each cheek. Afterwards she painfully kicked him between the legs too. Jon didn’t even attempt to stop her. The calmer she got the more fruitful would be their coming talk. He also deserved it.

“She’s alive.”

Asha nodded and sat herself down on the bed patting the spot next to her.

After he had seated himself there and didn’t look in her eyes or said anything else for half a minute his rock wife began. “So, what happened now?”

“It was my fault,” he simply replied. “I didn’t intend to hurt her like that though.”

“I know.”

Suddenly he felt her arms around him. Asha hugged him tightly from the side and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Of course, I believe it,” she whispered calmly in his right ear. “I know you, Jon, and I know you would never seriously harm me or any other innocent woman wilfully.”

After comprehending her words Jon broke down almost immediately down and started sobbing. Until now he hadn’t really confronted his own feelings on the matter. At first, they had been numbed by shock, then worry and in the end fear, fear of himself.

He didn’t remember what exactly he had told Asha, but it was basically everything he found relevant, mainly his magic talents and how he had developed and used them until now, how he had cheated at the Kingsmoot by using the whales as a false sign of the Drowned Gods. He had told her of his wolf dreams and how in the night with Jeyne he had panicked when he felt Ghost mating, that he had forcefully and clumsily pushed himself out taking part of the heated direwolf with him and the terrific results for the girl that his rock wife had chosen for her gentleness.

The woman by his side had been silent until the end of his tale, only stroking his back while Jon spoke.

“I knew that you were a skinchanger since Tormund came as Mance’s messenger to Westwatch while you went to the Isles alone,” she eventually revealed. “I recognized what you were doing at the Kingsmoot almost immediately too.”

Jon looked up from the ground into her dark eyes. It seemed like he had underestimated his wife all along.

“I am sure Jeyne will be fine again,” she continued with a light smile. “We will both explain to her what happened together, alright?”

Jon just nodded. He couldn’t help but feel like a massive burden had been taken from his shoulders.

 _I am not alone in this world_ , he realized. _Asha will always support me, and I will support her as well._

Since their wedding Jon had never given Asha any important task to do alone, always travelling for important meetings and talks himself. All significant decisions had been done by him alone.

“You plan to kill and replace me with our child,” he accused her quietly. It was the secret obstacle that stood between them since the start of their relationship. “I saw you discuss it with Tris on our wedding night through Ghost’s eyes.”

He felt stiffen for a moment and then relax again shortly after. “I… can’t take those words back,” Asha replied slowly. “I can just tell you now that I could never steal away Serra’s father, as my own father has been stolen from me. I recognize that now”

 _I believe you_ , Jon wanted to sincerely say in return but before he could open his mouth his lips had been captured by his spouse’s.

They parted from each other minutes later laying on the bed with their arms and legs around each other.

“So… how much wolf is inside you?” Asha asked Jon nonchalantly while Jon caressed her short black hair. She must have cut it since they last saw each other.

“I think I have a better sense of hearing and smell. I also have a desire for raw meat. I tend to drool when I spot cattle.”

They giggled both at the last part for a while until Asha turned serious again.

“And what about your preferences… You don’t prefer bitches now, do you?” she asked with a small grin which didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jon didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about this topic.

Asha moved around a bit and after a few seconds Jon realized that she had started to undress herself. Her boots were already gone.

“No,” he said decisively.

_I don’t want to hurt you too…_

Asha gazed in his eyes calmly. “You know,” she began. “If there is one thing that I have learned over the years on the Iron Islands and the seas, it’s that we shouldn’t run away from our problems as long as they are solvable.” Asha pulled down her breeches. “This applies for our anxieties as well,” she added.

After throwing her tunic to the side she showed her still swollen breasts off for him. Jon almost started slobbering from the sight. He hadn’t done it since over three weeks which suddenly seemed like an eternity. Jon hadn’t reacted to her body this strongly in the past.

Asha laughed genuinely. “Hmmm, I see you still appreciate the female human form.” She moved her hands for Jon’s strained trousers. “Now show _your true mate_ how direwolves do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people disliked the rape scene(s) in the last chapter. I personally was dissatisfied how I ignored or whitewashed the clearly existent darker social issues in ASOIAF and the Iron Islands especially. This was an attempt to thematize them somewhat.
> 
> We are currently in a war so expect some darker chapter, not sure if they will be as explicit though.
> 
> It is also true that Jon/Jeyne is more than just a minor aspect of this story, even though I commented differently in the past.  
> I write on a chapter-by-chapter basis, beginning with the new one after the last has been posted. My outline is extremely rough and basically undetermined until I actually write the events out, so I know as much about many future plot developments as you do.  
> This is also why there is not much point to asking about what will happen. I can guess at best.


	32. Flames of Lannisport (Asha VI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Three Crowns try to sack Lannisport.

Asha had decided to ask someone about Jon’s current situation who had some more information about wargs and skinchangers in the night before their attack on Lannisport. Therefore, she had sought out Val in her small tent in the Ironborn camp section. Asha had told her about Jon’s new urges and instincts. Fortunately, he hadn’t developed a desire to consume human flesh yet. He seemed almost normal if he wasn’t distracted by his nose. Her husband couldn’t think inside the camp at evening because all the meat getting cooked and roasted for dinner.

“I don’t think this will be much of a problem in the long run,” Val said. “He just needs to get his urges under control. I assume it will naturally get better over time.”

“Alright,” Asha accepted the spearwife’s verdict. She had expected something along these lines.

“I already had wondered about the looks you are receiving recently. This explains it, I guess.”

Asha frowned for she had noticed the not-so-subtle glances from many Ironborn and more and more Northmen and Riverlanders as well.

_At least my plan worked somewhat. This will curb the rumours about Jon being too soft._

Considering the nature of gossip however, her idea was possibly backfiring. Asha didn’t wanted Jon to be known as a monster, even though it was partly true now.

“It’s unbelievable,” she complained. “I am still a crowned Queen. These bastards look at me like I am some sort of delicate flower that gets fucked to tears every night.”

“Don’t you?” Val asked with a irritating smirk.

“Shut your mouth.”

Jon had actually been painfully decisive in the last three nights once he had gotten in the right mood. There was a reason she preferred standing right now, not that she would ever tell it her husband. Jon's mental state was still a bit fragile. She had even asked for some herbal cream against bruising from the camp wenches. The young man didn’t know how to control his strength since he had come back from Pyke.

“Can a skinchanger’s body be influenced by his animals and the other way around?” Asha asked. It seemed like this was happening here.

The Free Folk Princess shook her head. “No,” she denied. “The bond connects only their mind and souls. The mind and soul themselves form a union with the body as far as I know.”

“Hmmm.”

Asha glanced at the fair Val and the apparent emptiness of the big tent.

“You haven’t accepted anyone in your bed despite countless offers,” she mentioned with a calm expression.

“I have already chosen my future spouse,” Val replied casually.

_Which wouldn’t be a problem if your man wasn’t my spouse currently._

“He doesn’t want to steal me right now, but that is only a temporary obstacle.” Apparently, Val had recognized the issue between the two of them.

Asha was disappointed at herself for fearing the spearwife’s move for Jon. In his current state he was exactly the type who wouldn’t defend himself properly against a seductive woman and afterwards accept his offender as another bed partner without much of a fight.

 _I am not scared of competition. Jon’s heart will always be mine, no matter Jeyne or any other walked along pussy_ , she tried to assure herself.

Jeyne had originally been harmless, but it was hard to see how Jon’s heavy guilt and the defiled Westerling would interact in the future. It certainly wouldn’t be surprising if the damaged girl would develop feelings for her new ‘master’, a well-studied phenomenon.

“Do what you want,” she said while turning to the exit of the tent. Asha had already given Val the permission to pursue Jon. She wouldn’t go back on her word.

Asha had realized by now that she had gotten a bit possessive over her husband. She also recognized her push for the Westerland noblewoman to be her sister wife had partly been a coping mechanism against the developing feelings for the father of her daughter.

_Serra…_

Asha missed her babe immensely. She had even considered several times over the last weeks to make a trip to see the little girl. Soon the war would be over, thankfully. They had received news that Renly Baratheon and his great army of Reachmen and Stormlanders had started to besiege King’s Landing.

* * *

Lannisport was a walled city in the Westerlands located less than a mile south of Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister. Lannisport stood at the coast of the Sunset Sea where the River Road, the Gold Road, and the Ocean Road met. It was one of the major ports of the Seven Kingdoms and the largest settlement in the Westerlands. According to a census that Lord Tywin Lannister had ordered over a decade before the Westerlands inhabited about five and a half million men and women, 200 thousand of them lived in Lannisport making it the third biggest city of Westeros, behind King’s Landing and Oldtown.

The city was ruled by House Lannister of Lannisport, a cadet branch of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The head of the house was Lord Loreon Lannister of Lannisport. Other notable houses with their seat where the Houses Lannys, Lannetts and Lantells, all founded as Lannister cadet branches as well.

Asha had participated in the dreadfully boring strategy meeting to make her input known.

The Three Crowns were outnumbered by quite a bit, up to four to one. As far as they knew the Lannisters had conscripted every able man and boy remaining in the city. Most of them would be green though, without any relevant combat experienced they were likely run at the first sign of confrontation.

There was no point in a siege because the Iron Fleet had failed to smash the Lannister fleet and take control of Casterly Bay, an event that still irritated Asha quite a bit. Fortunately, the Iron Arsenal had already started launching its first galleys.

In Asha’s opinion it wasn’t enough however and that’s why the Ironborn would execute her plan. She had convinced Jon that the two of them would lead all the Ironborn to capture all the ships in the harbour.

At full noon, Wun Wun who had become a living legend in weeks would ‘lead’ a group of a thousand Riverlanders under Edmure Tully and the Northmen under her goodbrother Robb onto the eastern gate with many roars and cheers. The Giant had been fitted with steel armour pieces including a terrifying black helmet which had been gifted to him by Robb. Wun Wun wouldn’t be able to smash in the gate for they had been reinforced heavily.

They would draw the focus of the ‘red cloaks’, the city watch, to the east.

She was mounted on a grey mare on the Ocean Road on the south of Lannisport next to Jon who was seated on a black stallion. Asha herself was an acceptable rider at best. It was the fastest way across the Isles, but horses were still barely used there. Behind them were almost four thousand Ironborn and one thousand of the Free Folk hidden in the treeline less than three hundred meters away from the stone walls.

They were both dressed in their usual leather battle attire. Asha had her favourite axe in her hand and a buckler on her back while Jon wielded a bastard sword and a bigger shield with their coat-of-arms on the front.

Finally, the expected rider with a Tully banner galloped to them.

“It’s time!” Jon yelled while drawing his sword. “Attack!”

The first men running were the ones carrying their newly made ladders. Everyone else rushed up behind them including Asha. The originally organized lines already dissolved after one hundred meters.

Jon was riding somewhere behind her screaming orders around but in the screams of the horde they weren’t comprehendible.

When she passed the two-thirds mark to the ten meters high walls of Lannisport, the first thumps of arrows were heard by Asha. A man a few steps away from her collapsed without a scream with one sticking from his face.

“Shields up!” Asha yelled and most people around her followed own her example.

The first men had reached the wall by now. “Ladders! Ladders up!” Dagmer yelled who led the vanguard.

Screams came from the top of the walls and arrows and stones falling on the first brave men that tried to climb up the ladders. Asha had arrived at the amassing crowd under the walls as well now.

“Archers! Fire at will!” That was Harras, commanding their bowmen at the back.

Dozens of ladders now leaned against the stone, all very tightly next to each other. Asha saw the first man reaching the top just to fall immediately back down.

Everyone shoved and pushed around wildly. Asha had never been in such a battle. She was more accustomed to fighting on deck. She was happy now that Jon had resolutely forbidden her from storming the walls herself because it was ‘no place for a Queen’.

_This is complete madness._

The first men had seized parts of the walls by now. Several bodies, alive and dead, fell to the ground with every breath Asha took.

“Every cunt up the nearest ladder!” Dagmer’s voice boomed from the wall. “Take and open the fucking gates! Now!”

Asha noticed smoke from the eastern wall of Lannisport where the greater part of their host was attacking.

“This is going better than I thought,” Jon commentated in passing and rode a bit further to the wall. “All on the back, move to the gate!”

Five minutes later the golden lions on the southern gates vanished and the doors opened. A horn sounded and everyone still standing under the walls streamed to the easy opening.

Only screams and the sound of clashing steel filled the afternoon sky.

“To the left!” Jon yelled to the Ironborn behind him. “Follow the banner!”

Asha followed Jon through the gate on her horse, she saw a red glow from the east side. Lannisport was burning.

They moved along the wall, some men going up the stairs prompting most of the remaining red cloaks to flee. More Ironborn and Free Folk warriors were entering the houses of the smallfolk.

Soon they reached the western border of the city with the Sunset Sea.

“We need to board the ships if the fire spreads over the entire town!” Asha said loudly to Jon while both were getting from their mounts. The fire had spread over the entire north-eastern section of Lannisport by now.

“Aye, but we have lost over half of our men. We have no idea where these madmen are.”

“Fuck them! If they burn because of their greed I won’t shed a tear!”

_These idiots can’t even follow the simplest orders._

Jon had told her that the Ironborn had problems with organized ground battles, but she couldn’t believe that they were worse than the Free Folk who had been ordered to seize walls and closest houses.

“There are fifty galleys at least here! Focus on the biggest ships first,” Jon proclaimed loudly to the two hundred men around them. “I will reward everyone that secured one ship at the end of the battle with the gold from Casterly Rock! More than you will be able to seize from the poor smallfolk hiding in their homes!”

That got him some loud cheers and the horde of soldiers rushed towards the anchored vessels at the quay.

“Asha, stay with me and the guards.” Jon spoke to her seriously. “Let’s focus on the big war galleys over there.” He pointed further up the shore.

 _He must have scouted the ships with Blueberry before_ , she realized and followed without any complaint. His obvious concern for her safety warmed Asha’s heart too.

It seemed like the sailors of the fleet had been recruited for the harbour defence as well, but it didn’t help their enemies. It was getting hotter, for the wind blew westwards towards the water impelling the flames to possibly cover the entire city.

Jon himself seemed to have the time of his life. Nobody seemed to be able to touch him and Asha even saw him taking on three red cloaks by himself. Jon _butchered_ them in seconds, swinging his sword with more force than he should possess. Asha had seen him spar before, but he had been a good swordsman, but this performance was something else.

She saw one of the ‘royal guards’ as they had been unofficially coined fight a red cloak nearby and swiftly held up her axe while running towards him to help. Suddenly Dagon was in front of her and bashed the man of the city guard with his wide shield, so his original opponent could finish him.

“Can you fucking stop that!? I can fight for myself well enough!”

“Sorry, my Queen, but orders are orders,” Dagon replied, not sounding sorry at all. She didn’t have to wonder who was responsible for her predicament.

“All men that block me from now on will get castrated!” Asha tried to dissuade the guards but her weak threat wasn’t even acknowledged.

_At least these men are loyal to their King._

After two minutes three arrived at the three biggest galleys almost at the other end of the harbour which Jon meant. Every ship along their way had been secured by their men. Asha didn’t take the time to admire the impressive vessels, she was still frustrated by her captors. The half a dozen men didn’t even try to hide that they were intentionally boxing her in.

 _I am treated like I was made from glass._ It was truly infuriating.

Sweat was dripping down everyone’s forehead from the now unbearable air temperature.

Suddenly groups of unarmed men and women came streaming from the alleys. They were heading straight for the quays.

“The smallfolk are trying to take the ships,” Asha yelled. “They are fleeing from the fire and our men”

Jon had heard her warning and stopped to quickly glance around. “They are safe from the fire in the water. Let’s split into groups of five. Cut the ropes and steer the boats into the bay. Then wait until everything is over.”

“Just lower the sails, the wind will do the rest,” Asha added.

She then pointed at four royal guards around her. “You are with me, let’s go.”

They rushed towards the nearest war galley, the other two big ones getting targeted by groups led by Dagon and Jon. They cut the ropes swiftly and then jumped aboard. Luckily, no one seemed to be onboard to defend. They immediately started to lower the sails.

Then she saw them, at least fifty men and women were running towards their vessel.

_I f they board us they will mob us. Steel won’t rescue us from so many fists._

The reason these people were fleeing was the attack from the Three Crowns, they would not take kindly to the ones responsible for their material and family losses.

“The planks!” she ordered swiftly “Pull in the planks!”

Everyone else apparently didn’t understand the incoming threat, for they moved to it rather sluggishly. “Now!” Asha screeched. “Pull in the planks or we are fucking dead!”

That got them moving. She rushed to the farthest of the three alone. A glance showed that the one near the mast was already pulled in by one of the men, the three remaining were running for the two closest to the city at the ship's stern.

The thick wooden board was seven meters long. Asha grabbed it and pulled backwards with all her might but it barely budged.

She heard the screams from the quay. The desperate smallfolk were coming nearer and nearer.

 _I can’t pull it in. I need to push it out_ , she realized while dropping her axe next to her.

The new approach worked. Slowly the end of the plank was moving towards the edge of the deck.

It was only fingers away from falling when a ragged man reached the bottom and leaped on the board. The mob itself was still a few seconds away.

Asha recognized that she had to act quickly. She picked up and threw her axe directly in the man’s face from her sitting position. He died instantly and fell into the water.

She grabbed the plank again, but it was too late for three other men had already arrived at the other end of the board. Asha was unarmed with only the shield which she had carried on her back in hand now. She kicked the refugee at the front into the chest, taking down the two after him as well.

_Where are my men?!_

Finally, she was joined by one of the royal guards. “Move down from the plank!”

Asha leaped off and the Ironborn grabbed the plank with all his power and forced it up, Asha moved towards him and pushed with him. A glance from her revealed that the other four men had decided to rather raise the sails than rush to her.

She heard roars and assumed that the smallfolk were sliding back down the walkway. Eventually, they were able to haul the entire thing overboard. Only seconds later the entire ship started moving by the grace of the Drowned God.

“They are at the side!” One of the guards yelled and shoved his spear down on the outside of the railing, causing a stream and a splash.

Asha went over too and saw that it was less than a dozen men that tried to scale the dark timber. She still didn’t have a weapon, only the wooden round shield. It was enough for the smallfolk though and she bashed a man and a woman onto the head. The threat of these madmen finally ending.

Their galley had been one of the last on the open water, Asha even saw Jon’s silhouette on the apparent former Lannister flagship. Lannisport itself had turned into an orange-red sea of fire beyond the galley’s stern. Desperate screams and cries for help were filling the silence on the galley hundreds of meters away from the shore. The white ash in the air caused her eyes to sting painfully.


	33. Casterly Rock (Jon XXIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has to handle the pressure from several sources.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter depicts sexual scenes, mostly towards the end.

This was not how the sack had been intended to pan out. Tens of thousands of men, women and children had died inside the stone walls of Lannisport. Not all had been burnt alive, many had choked to death because of the ashes. Jon guessed that at least a third of all houses had been reduced to rubble and half were uninhabitable. Only the north- and south-western corners of the settlement, called the Great and Small Quarters, had survived relatively unscathed. The Harbour was mostly still standing as well.

Fortunately, they had intentionally left open the northern side of the city to leave a flight possibility towards Casterly Rock open for the smallfolk and red cloaks. The Three Crowns had received heavy losses in the forceful seizing of the walls and the gates, but their near position to the outside of the city had saved all but the greediest looters from the flames.

It was still unclear how the fire had started but it had roughly begun with the attack on the eastern gate. A correlation seemed obvious here.

In the end the attack had not been profitable for most of their man and strategically it was also only a giant waste of time and resources. Robb and Edmure had departed on the next day on the Gold Road towards the centre of Westeros. They wanted to give the Lannister hiding in the besieged King’s Landing the final stab.

The Ironborn remained behind in the Westerlands. Jon planned to take the last forts under control of the Lannisters. The first would be Casterly Rock, the seat of the main branch of House Lannister itself.

Casterly Rock was carved out of a colossal stone hill beside the Sunset Sea, measured at three times the height of the Wall or the Hightower of Oldtown. It was almost nine kilometres long from west to east, and contained tunnels, dungeons, storerooms, barracks, halls, stables, stairways, courtyards, balconies, and gardens. While popularly believed to resemble a lion in repose at sunset, Jon thought it looked rather like giant anthill with all the openings on the outside of the orange stone.

The base of the Rock contained large sea-carved caverns. ‘The Lion's Mouth’, the main entry to Casterly Rock, was such an enormous natural cavern reaching sixty meters high. Its steps were now wide enough for twenty riders and its port had docks, wharves, and shipyards, easily accessible by longships and cogs. The sea entrance was blockaded by the captured Lannister galleys already.

The Casterlys of antiquity had built a ringfort on the peak, and over the millennia the Rock’s natural defences had only been expanded with walls, gates, and watchtowers. Casterly Rock was manned by a garrison of at least five thousand trained men right now, many of the soldiers had fled from Lannisport but the elite guard of the Rock numbered at least one thousand as well.

Jon had four thousand Ironborn and two thousand cave dwellers in comparison, almost all of them uncoordinated and informally trained fighters. A frontal attack would be impossible with them.

There was however another option. The stone had been mined for thousands of years, so there were hundreds of mineshafts in the depths of the Rock, as well yet untouched gold veins. Jon had already sent the cave dwellers in groups around the rock to scout for openings. There was no one better for the job in the entire world.

The cave dwellers had found something worthwhile already on the second day, a collapsed mine entrance at the end of a small natural cave on the most eastern part of the Rock that went sharp downwards into the ground to the bowels of the Lannister’s seat. A few dozen Ironborn were immediately ordered to grab themselves through the rocks and dirt impeding further moves inwards. The goal was to create a new, consequently unknown for the Rock’s defenders, entrance to the interior cave system for the launch of further attacks.

* * *

Jon was sitting in an elaborately decorated chair in his temporary new room in Lord Loreon Lannister’s mansion at the edge of the Sunset Sea. A letter, brought over the River Road by a rider, laid open before him on a desk.

Tormund had successfully conquered the Banefort. The attackers had suffered heavy losses, mainly among the Free Folk but most notably Harras Botley, heir to Lordsport, had also been slain on the walls of the keep by the now late Lord Banefort himself. Tormund’s people would settle down on the surrounding lands as they had agreed with Tormund becoming the new Lord Giantsbane of the Banefort if that was the name the seasoned fighter would choose for his new House.

Suddenly he felt two smaller, coarse hands on his shoulders.

“I am with child again. One of the healers confirmed it.”

Jon was elated and immediately stood up to sweep his not-so-enthusiastic wife up in a hug earning him a few light punches onto the back.

“Not so tightly,” Asha complained but he knew that she didn’t mean it seriously.

“How far are you along?”

“Just two months, I assume.” Asha was hinting at their time at Castamere.

Jon looked down and mustered the mother of his first and soon to be second child. They were clearly winning the war, but a sally of the Rock’s garrison was always possible. Additionally, he knew that numerous bandits and other lawless bands were crossing the war-torn Westeros. The situation and his verdict were clear.

“It’s too dangerous for you here,” he eventually proclaimed. “You leave for Pyke with the next convoy.”

The Iron Fleet had already been notified of the result of the sack of Lannisport and were expected to arrive very soon with reinforcements.

Asha was outraged. “What? No! I can still fight and lead the troops!”

Jon shook his head. The reaction was expected but he wouldn’t let this spiral into another argument.

_I need to protect her and the unborn._

Jon’s instincts demanded it as well. It seemed like the wolf inside of him agreed wholeheartedly. Jon would miss his nocturnal trysts with his spouse, but this was obviously the right decision.

“I won’t go now,” Asha said stubbornly. “It’s not necessary yet. I am only in the earliest stages.”

“You will go, and that’s final,” Jon snapped back. “I am your King. Don’t comply, wife, and you shall be dragged back in chains by Dagon on my orders.”

Thankfully the threat wasn’t tested. Asha caved in with many angry glares and snide words which Jon ignored as best as he could and departed four days later. Jon was closer to letting Asha stay than he wanted to admit. Since she had revealed her pregnancy, they hadn’t laid together anymore, and Jon’s sleep got more and more restless.

Parts of the Iron Fleet had landed with supplies for his men and reinforcements. They also brought fortunate news. Lord Baelor was starting to transport thirty thousand of the Free Folk under Mance Rayder to Fair Isle. They would finish what the Ironborn of Orkmont had begun and settle down there.

He also got news that Robb had managed to conquer Deep Den. With the keeps fall the Gold Road was under the control of the Three Crowns for now. The River Road was still blocked by the defiant Golden Tooth, governed by Lady Alysanne Lefford. The second greatest castle was besieged by the Riverlanders, but they could hold out for months, possibly years.

* * *

The breakthrough happened not even two weeks after the fiery sack of Lannisport. Over the next day small scout groups of cave dwellers were sent to scout out the now revealed cavern system. The directly connected part turned out to be made up off several mine shafts that had long since been abandoned, at least centuries according to Jon’s guess.

They decided to be cautious and tried to map out the Rock from the bottom upwards to not later lose themselves. Jon had joined a dozen men and women for one of the first explorations in one of the more central section, mainly because he was so tense in the last days. His eyes wandered over every woman on his path with not a few showing great interest in return. It was truly maddening. With the time increasing since Asha’s departure, his lust was getting stronger as well. Thankfully, he was still disciplined enough to keep himself from any more dishonourable actions.

The shafts they had wandered were all abandoned. The used internal sections seemed to be on the other side of the Rock, near the Lion’s Mouth. They found rooms where caged lions had once been kept based on the bones that were leave over from their likely food, and empty black cells intended for the worst prisoners.

The light-brown rock was sporadically streaked with veins of gold. Jon was shocked by the amount of the precious metal which seemingly remained in the stone around him after thousands of years of mining.

* * *

Jeyne was looking great today. She was holding the giggling Serra in her arms and moved next to Ghost. Jon felt a weight on his, or better the direwolf’s, back. Then he began to slowly trot around the room.

While he was a bit scared of the power behind the wolf dreams still, he couldn’t help himself and observe his family. Jon just needed to assure himself of their safety. He had intentionally decided to make an afternoon nap for them. Asha had either not arrived at Pyke yet, which would be odd considering the days that had gone by since she had departed per longship. Maybe he had just missed her.

Eventually, Jeyne decided that his daughter had enough excitement for the day.

“Time for bed, alright, little one,” the now healthy-looking young woman exclaimed while picking Serra up from Ghost’s back.

“No!” That was Serra’s favourite sound right now, one of the few she had picked up, so he wasn't sure she actually comprehend its meaning. It was more a mix of babbling and singsong which was already impressive for her age, she was barely four months old right now.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jeyne replied with a wide smile. “Ghost needs to rest as well. He needs to sleep, exactly like a little princess.”

“No!” Serra exclaimed enraged after she had been placed in her small bed. "Nonono!”

_She certainly has inherited Asha’s temper._

Deciding that he had seen enough Jon let himself fall back into his real body, completely controlled.

The first thing he felt was the weight on his chest and stomach.

“My wolf is very tense since his mate left,” a sensual and familiar voice spoke into his right ear.

“How did you come in here?” Jon asked confused and opened his eyes. He only saw gold. “There are guards posted at the entrance, Val”

“Not at the backdoor tough. Your guards are useless, I would say,” the spearwife said nonchalantly and grabbed him by his completely hard manhood. Only now did he notice that he was completely naked. Considering his state Val had fondled around with his body for some time already.

“What do you want?” The question’s sharp tone was compromised by the moan afterwards that Jon failed to supress.

He managed to gesture to the map of the Westerlands on his work desk a few steps away. Various figurines showed keeps and troops under different factions’ control. “I don’t have time to learn the Old Tongue currently, I need organize our war effort.”

“I am not here for that. I think the King has need for me regardless, no?” Val purred irritatingly while tugging her head between his neck and his shoulder.

Her breath on his skin was more arousing than it should have been. He had been stuck without matrimonial attention in the last days and it was becoming too noticeable for both him and the so-called White Princess.

“You don’t believe in crowns and titles, so don’t come me with that,” he decided to distract from the real reason she was here. Jon didn’t try to shake her stroking fingers off. It felt just _too good_.

“New lands and new rules, the Free Folk has to adapt. Those are your own words.” Jon indeed remembered telling her about his plan for her people in the past. “Asha has told me about your new predicament. I have also noticed how her leave impacts your mood…”

_Asha…_

“I am happily married,” he said shortly, finally waking up from his stupor, and succeeded in plugging her hands off him afterwards.

“Twice even,” the mocking reply came.

Val moved herself up to sit on his stomach. She looked ravishingly good, as always, wearing an almost see-through white dress, decorated with silver and golden threads that complimented her hair. Jon could see her nipples through the slim silk and felt more of his blood flow downwards. He wondered where she got all her different clothes from.

“A mistake that won’t happen again, both the wedding and the bedding,” he eventually spoke in a neutral tone.

“When will you see Asha again? The war might go on for months. These lions don’t seem inclined to give up, even when they are clearly losing.”

Val was surprisingly well informed about the current state of the conflict. While King’s Landing was besieged smaller groups loyal to Joffrey Waters were still roaming freely around. Apparently, Renly Baratheon and Tywin Lannister had clashed in the Kingswood without a clear victor with the Warden of the West withdrawing into the city.

“Do you trust yourself to keep control until Asha delivers the child? That’s months away as well,” the Free Folk Princess continued slowly. It seemed she had prepared this speech well in advance. “You can already barely contain yourself, Jon. I feel you poking my ass. I am giving you an easy and pleasuring way out of your predicament. Do you really want to risk the health of another innocent girl?”

_That she dares…_

He was tempted of course. Asha gave her allowance long ago, and he sincerely doubted Jeyne would complain, but the grey-eyed woman was just too bold in her approach.

Jon pushed her off his body, thereby interrupting the argument. “Get the fuck out! Now!”

The Free Folk woman complied surprisingly easy with his wish. She didn’t even seem too disappointed with his refusal.

“You will come to steal me soon enough on your own,” were her light-hearted parting words as she slowly walked out the door in her see-through robe. Jon couldn’t pry his eyes off her shapely backside. “Believe me, my wolf!”

* * *

A day later Jon was notified of an urgent messenger which he received in the courtyard of his current home.

 _Has King’s Landing fallen?_ He was anxious, it was unlikely the man had something good to say, but one could always hope.

The chained Giant of House Umber was depicted on the middle-aged rider’s leather tunic when Jon passed the great front gate of his mansion.

“Your Grace, my name is Dyrren from Last Hearth,” the Northman greeted him. He had already climbed from his horse.

“Tell me your news, Dyrren” Jon ordered. There was no point in pleasantries.

“Aye, Your Grace. My King Robb seized the Deep Den a week before on his way east. After resting for a day, he marched onwards on the Gold Road. They were ambushed! Jaime Lannister and several thousand men awaited them hidden in the hills. We suffered terrible loses, though we were able to sustain our organization and reached the southern Riverlands under King Edmure’s command…”

Jon didn’t miss what the rider left out. “What about Robb?!” he quickly questioned the man, desperate for news.

As the heir of the Winter Throne his closest half-brother’s death would impact him more than anyone. Victory was _so_ near.

“The Kingslayer, Your Grace,” Dyrren replied. “He butchered himself through the King’s personal guard, slaying the heirs of House Hornwood, Flint and Locke. A few Freys and other Riverlanders too, I think. King Robb…” the Northman trailed off with a grimace.

“What?!” the frantic Jon exclaimed.

“His Grace was captured, Your Grace. The Kingslayer knocked him out and let him get dragged out of combat by his men. Then the Lannisters withdrew.”

 _This is a catastrophe_ , was Jon’s first thought. His second thought was questioning who oversaw the North and its forces now. Robb wasn’t dead – thankfully – and therefore Jon didn’t inherit command automatically.

_If I take command I might be seen as a usurper._

This outcome was rather likely in truth, especially considering Lady Stark’s attitude towards him.

“Who’s commanding the remaining Northern troops?” Jon asked Derryn after he calmed himself down enough.

“Lord Bolton has still command of the greatest host defending the Riverlands. He’s supposed to be at Harrenhal with half of our troops. The other half is camping in Stoney Sept under Lord Karstark who King Edmure and Lord Umber want to join.”

A sensible decision in Jon’s opinion. Both Lord Umber and Lord Karstark were loyal to Winterfell, at least in from of Robb.

 _With King’s Landing under siege of Renly, our troops won’t crumble because of Robb’s disappearance_ , he ultimately concluded.

The question now was if Jon should travel eastwards. He looked northwards to the Rock. With the Kingslayer having custody of his half-brother he had to answer in kind, as fast as possible.

* * *

The cave dwellers advanced farther and farther inside the Rock over the next few days. Eventually they deemed themselves ready and clashed with its inhabitants to seize lowest levels of the Lannister’s seat. The steel-equipped pale folk was accustomed to cave systems and could move without problems in complete darkness. The garrison stood no chance.

The guerrilla warfare continued for several days, the one dozen clans occupied more and more of the lower levels. For the defenders of the Rock they had to be a true plague, striking out of nowhere in superior numbers.

After a week the garrison and inhabitants of the Rock had withdrawn to the western half of the tunnels on the seaside, particularly the bigger natural caves and halls that were well enlightened and the upper echelons. Jon now even sent Ironborn under the Free Folk’s guidance into the vast tunnels.

Jon himself took a group of twenty of his best men, they were guided by three cave dwellers called Guru, Dakata and Kakeke. They would breach the upper levels of the Rock today.

Guru was the chieftain of one of the present clans. He had also been Jon’s main spokesperson over the last months for the men that had lived in the central Frostfangs before. He didn’t spoke the Common Tongue fluently thankfully.

“We will soon reach the lion men’s territory,” Guru spoke.

Val was beside him. She was dressed in dark tight leather for once, white could become a problematic colour in the parts of Casterly Rock with less light. They hadn’t spoken at all in the week since she had tried to convince him to lay with her.

They moved from one of the smaller tunnels witch rocky walls they had frequented into one of the bigger ones. The floor, walls and ceiling were made from dark smooth stone which gave Jon a gloomy feeling. They followed the sinister tunnel for around five minutes until Jon saw a small light in the distance, a few minutes later they reached their goal.

It was an even bigger hallway, five meters wide and paved with orange stone plates, that went slowly upwards to the right.

“Nobody uses this floor,” Guru explained. “Come on, Wolf King.”

He led them upwards along the orange corridor. The orange corridor eventually ended in a walkway with smooth walls of grey stone which was enlightened by burning torches. This one was seven meters wide.

“This is one of the main walkways,” Guru commented. “We haven’t gone any farther than this.”

The band of twenty slowly walked the grey hallway further upwards. Eventually they heard steps from the front. It was a patrol, almost twenty men loyal to the Lannisters.

Both saw each other at the same time and decided to engage. Jon rushed ahead, his first strike of his bastard sword slashing through a man’s face already to instantly kill him before moving to the next opponent.

The Lannister guards had probably expected weaker and fewer enemies for they assumed them to be all cave dwellers. They received a deadly surprise. Sounds of clashing steel and pained screams echoed through the wide hallway. No opponent survived, the last one receiving Val’s thrown dagger in the back to end his flight. Jon had taken down four men himself, though not all in one-against-one combat.

After assuring himself of everyone’s state, they had lost two and several light injuries, the group proceeded. All turns and junctions were noted on a map by Dakata, so they were able to find their way back. On their way they met two smaller groups of guards numbering less than five which were quickly disposed off without any issues.

Eventually the grey hallway ended on a big crossroad where four different tunnels met each other. They chose the most elaborate one to the left with a white polished marble floor. They stopped before two big golden doors after less than a minute and two turns. The gates were decorated with the symbol of House Lannister, lions.

Two men pulled on one of the doors and successfully opened it. The great hall behind was splendidly equipped with colourful paintings on walls and ceiling. Everywhere in the giant chamber stood statues, many dressed in armour, on or next to tombs of grey stone, pure gold or white marble. Jon could barely make out the decorated walls on the other side, at least two hundred meters away.

“This must be the Hall of Heroes,” Jon explained loudly. “Many Lannister heroes and Kings and Queens of the Rock are buried here.”

“Let the dead rest peacefully,” Val spoke, and no one argued her for tomb robbing was neither appreciated by Old Gods nor the Drowned.

“The weapons and armours of iron and steel are too old anyway,” Jon reasoned. “And the golden ones are likely too heavy to carry back.”

Suddenly they heard a gasp, Jon turned and saw a blond girl a dozen steps away behind a long-gone King’s statue of stone, dressed in a green-golden dress. Dagon immediately reacted and sprinted to the frozen youth.

“You scream, you die.” The leader of Jon’s guard threatened her by swinging his sword next to her head.

“Who- who are you?” the girl asked. Jon guessed she hadn’t even flowered yet, she looked to be a bit older than Arya.

“I am Jon Stark, King of the Iron Islands,” he introduced himself.

“Eeep!” The girl’s rosy face went completely white, her mouth gaping wide open. Jon noticed the colour of her eyes now, green.

“Are you a Lannister, little one?”

The girl shook her head energetically. “No, eeeh… Your Grace,” she denied quietly. “I am Joy Hill. My father is Gerion Lannister, Mother was only a commoner…”

_A bastard, but still the niece of Lord Tywin Lannister._

Val kneeled next to the frightened blond. “Why are you here, Joy? Don’t you know that it’s dangerous right now?” she asked gently.

The presence of the beautiful smiling woman seemed to calm Joy down a bit. “Oh, Aunty Genna said we aren’t allowed to go in the lower levels and always walk with the guard if we go deeper into the tunnels.”

“And where are your guards,” Val questioned with a smile.

Sweet Joy Hill only blushed, not replying. She glanced up at Jon quickly before lowering her gaze.

“Will you take me with you, so you can defile me, Your Grace?” Joy asked slowly. “That’s what Aunty Genna says the bad men will do to all young girls they meet…”

Jon honestly wasn’t quite sure what to do with the girl. His orders were to kill or capture everyone they come across, so they could be brought out of the Rock. The men were sent to the Wall where able fighters were needed more than ever. The women were generally turned into servants of all kinds in the occupied Lannisport. Joy Hill deserved a room as a highborn hostage in Jon’s opinion. Her father was the Lord Admiral of the royal fleet.

“I think you are a bit too young for me, Joy,” he eventually replied and sheathed his blade. “I was born as a bastard too, you know, a Snow from the North. My father was Lord Eddard Stark.”

Joy gasped loudly. She didn’t seem very informed about the current war on her doorstep.

“I am sorry about your father, Your Grace” she sincerely said with a small bow. It was very cute.

“Thank you, Joy. Do you often come alone down here?”

The bastard daughter nodded. “When I feel very lonely, I come down here. Father has been away so log already and Lady Melesa doesn’t like to have me around very much.”

Jon recognized that she meant Lady Melesa Crakehall, the wife of Ser Gerion Lannister, Joy’s father.

“Hmm, Lady Stark dislike me as well,” he commented. “It seems we are both very similar, aren’t we?”

Joy managed to form a small smile following his words. It seemed like the fear for her future moved into the background behind a kindle soul.

_Who knows how Hills get treated here? She must not like her family much._

Considering the treatment that she apparently received, Joy was an opportunity he couldn’t miss.

“Joy, do you know the Rock well?” Jon asked her.

“Yes, Your Grace! I know almost every tunnel, only Uncle Tyrion has explored more than me, because he is so small!” It seemed Joy was excited to be of use, even though it was for the enemy.

“Then you can surely help us to sneak to the top to secure the Rock. If we succeed, nobody else must be killed,” Jon proposed.

“I don’t want any more people to get hurt…”

“Aye, if you help us, I promise to order my men to stop fighting. Your Aunty Genna and everyone else won’t be harmed, I promise that to you. And your father might come back too if the war ends earlier because you help us.”

Joy seemed to warm up to the idea. “You have to promise me more,” she said stubbornly. “I want to not only have Father back, but also that you don’t let me get force to marry any bad man like Lady Melisa threatens and I want you to swear it on all Gods!”

Jon managed to supress a giggle because of his luck. “I swear on all Gods of Westeros that I try my best to bring your Father back, and not let you wed anyone you don’t want,” he swore.

“Septa Lora says that the Stranger will take you if you break a vow.” Joy tried to make sure that Jon would hold his word.

“Then I will definitely do as promised,” Jon assure her.

“Alright, if you want to reach the top, just follow me,” a satisfied Joy spoke as she walked to the open gate through which Jon and his group entered.

They trailed her path, back to the big crossroad where they chose the most unimpressive junction. They travelled for over half an hour to small tunnels with only the light of their torches. Jon was already confused after the first dozen turns.

_If the girl tries to trick us, we are done. She can lead us directly into the arms of the garrison without any us noticing._

After a felt hour of wandering without seeing anyone else, Joy stopped before a black door.

“This is the Stone Garden,” she explained before pushing the door open and walking inside.

It was a godswood, in a natural large cave within the Rock. The cave contained a twisted light grey weirwood, whose tangled roots had almost filled the cave, choking out all other growth. The light came from the outside because the cave was open on one side, giving Jon a wonderful view on the Sunset Sea of Casterly Bay by dusk. They were obviously on the western side of the Rock, having moved from one side to the other.

“I thought the Lannisters are Andals,” Val said next to him, both taking in the sight.

“No,” Jon explained in a cordial tone. “They were originally First Men like many others noble Houses south of the Neck, almost all of them intermarried with the Andals and adapted their culture, customs and religion. It’s actually not too surprising that they have a godswood, but weirwoods are generally thought to be extinct this far south.”

“Hm, this one’s barely alive though, it can’t be too good up here without real earth, and much water and sunshine.”

After a short rest they left on the other side and passed through several smaller stone tunnels, likely used by the servants.

Eventually Joy stopped when their small dusty tunnel ended as a junction to a tunnel of orange stone plates again.

“We are in the Lannister quarters now. It’s time for supper right now. Aunty Genna, Uncle Stafford, Lady Melisa and their families should be behind the fifth door to the left. There are guards posted at the entrance though…”

Before Joy could reconsider her choice, so close to the goal, Val sauntered ahead without giving Jon time to stop her. “I will distract them,” she commented. “Follow in a minute.”

“Joy, how about you stay here, aye?”

After convincing their guide to remain behind they followed Val’s path to the door, no guards were in sight, as promised. Voices were coming from the dining chamber behind.

Everyone drew their weapons, Jon counted down from five with his fingers and on zero two Ironborn slammed open the doors with all their might to let the rest storm through.

Shrieks and cries came from the nobles seated at the great decked table. Only four guards were on each corner of the hall which was decorated with colourful tapestries on the wall and dark red carpets on the floor. The golden Lannister lion was unsurprisingly the most present symbol.

“Surrender and you shall not be harmed,” Jon proclaimed loudly for all to hear.

They were outnumbering the men in the room, half of the people seated on the table were just children, a third harmless women in dresses.

“By the Gods, who are you?” a larger woman with Lannister features shrieked and pulled two terrified young boys towards her body.

“I am King Jon Stark of the Isles, first conqueror of the Rock.”

That resulted in several gasps. His election in the Kingsmoot had to be well known by now.

“How did you fucking find the way up here. We have posted guards at all entrances to the essential sections.”

Jon didn’t deign to answer. He didn’t want to let the ignorant Joy suffer for her mistakes. She was only a sweet, lonely girl who was mistreated by her family. The Lannisters deserved their fate without doubt.

Jon focused his gaze on a middle-aged small man with a prominent apple in his throat that had drawn his sword. The bald man was thin and twitching nervously. He was only dressed in a blue thin tunic that depicted the Twins. He was in no way equipped for battle. “Do you really want to fight us and risk the safety of your kin?”

The fat woman that had spoken first turned to the man. “Emmon, you fool, drop the god-damned sword! Just think of the children!”

“Nobody will be harmed who surrenders peacefully,” Jon assured loudly.

After a few moments the first guard dropped his sword, the other armed opponent followed.

Jon turned around to Dagon. “Secure the woman and children in a smaller room with only one entrance. Then take this one downwards,” he pointed to the woman who seemed to be in charge who he assumed her to be Lady Genna Lannister. “She will order the garrison to leave their posts, so that our men can march in and occupy the entire Rock.”

The leader of his guard nodded and gave a few orders out.

Jon moved slowly to Lady Genna. “Will you and your family make any problems.”

The older woman tightened her grip on the boys she had embraced. She shook her head. “No, Your Grace, definitely not, as long as you promise to keep us unharmed.”

“Don’t worry, I swear it on the Old and the New Gods, on the Drowned God as well.”

* * *

Hours later the Ironborn had taken control of the seat of House Lannister. Jon had asked Dagon to put his most trusted men at the exit of the Lion’s Mouth. Plundering was well and good, but every newly arriving man would receive an equal share, most of them hadn’t actively contributed to the taking of the Rock.

The iron price turned out to be rather useful for once, allowing Jon to secure the wealth of Casterly Rock for himself without great outrage. Angry grumbling was expected anyway.

The several Lannister families and all the other nobles that had inhabited the Rock until now were given guest chambers to live in, all under strict observation of course. There were over one hundred highborn of the Westerlands in their custody.

The former garrison had been secured in the large camp outside of Lannisport while the female servants weren’t to be touched at all. Jon hoped that most would be smart enough to stay in the background, he could not do anything to guarantee their safety, except reduce the amount of his men inside Casterly Rock.

The cave dwellers were supposed to scout out the rest of the tunnels. Jon didn’t want to be the victim of random sneak attacks of the most resistant soldiers.

Joy had shown him the golden throne in the Golden Gallery. Countless Kings, Queens, Lords and Ladies of the Rock had been seated in this place before. The coloured windows on one side gave the massive room a majestic aura. The gilded walls were decorated by red-golden Lannister banners, the floor was made from black marble. Countless valuable treasures of the long and glorious history of the Lannisters were displayed at the walls behind cases of Myrish glass.

Jon had posted guards on all three entrances, so no one would take the artefacts. He himself had not decided what to do with them.

Currently, he was standing on top of the ancient ringfort on top of the Rock. The view onto the half-ruined Lannisport and their camp under the night sky was breath-taking.

He heard steps and looked up. Val was moving barefoot towards him, dressed in a long white dress of silk which she had surely taken from one of the Lannister’s rooms. The shift clung to her form so tightly, he immediately felt himself get hard.

The consequence of sending away Asha was becoming more and more noticeable.

How the woman had handled the guards Jon did not know, but she had returned without a visible scratch.

“You look very manly tonight, like a victor.” Val said coyly before snuggling herself against his arm that he had stretched out to hold her at bay, her soft breasts pressed to his skin.

Jon took the infuriating sight of her in. Her red lips were so lush and seductive.

_I am barely in control here. I need to focus._

He took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself down. Jon instantly knew that he had committed a grace mistake. Her scent, it had to be mostly sweat from all the wandering, made his head completely dizzy. He groaned, feeling as if he was deep in his cups.

Val said something but he only registered the sensual tone of her voice.

 _I want her. I need her, now_ , Jon recognized.

The war wouldn’t for months, even with the Westerlands almost completely conquered.

He would never endure this lust until Asha delivered their child.

Jon directly grabbed the Free Folk woman next him and walked with her down the stairs. He thankfully knew the way to the Lannister quarters. Finally arriving, he pushed open his new chamber, formerly Lord Tywin Lannister’s.

Val had let herself get led here without problems but when he wanted to drag her to the bed, she suddenly tried to shrug his hand on her left upper arm off, quite forcefully even.

 _This is like a game to her_ , Jon realized. _I certainly won’t lose now._

He gripped her even more tightly now, possibly even bruising her.

“Ouch! You brute!” Val exclaimed and tried to punch her tormentor’s face.

Jon didn’t much care if he hurt the spearwife, she had chosen this fate herself after all. He grabbed her right wrist as well while tugging down his breeches, his boots already gone.

He was much stronger than the struggling woman, so he easily ripped her thin dress off and shoved on the wide bed, made from golden wood with dark-red sheets. He threw his own tunic away and moved onto the bed.

“That’s not how you should treat a Lady,” Val complained turning around to face him.

Jon however grabbed her by the hips and forced her on all her on hands and knees, barring her womanhood, surrounded by small golden hairs. This was his favourite position and he didn’t want to have Val any semblance of control.

_If she wants to play games, she must accept losing._

His first push to enter her drenched sex came without warning, electing a small yelp from her and a moan from him, pleasure flowing through his entire body.

He started to fuck her without much caution pursuing mainly his own release, though he tried to be mindful of not holding her too hard.

“You’re mine,” Jon growled in Val’s golden hair and underlined his words with an especially strong thrust which prompted a yell from his woman.

“I… ah… I am yours,” the moaning Val replied, her state caused by their combined actions. “I am yours forever… and you are mine.”

Jon raised himself up from his position, bent over Val’s naked form. He straightened his back to have more strength to pound her from behind. Slowly he felt his time come for the spearwife’s insides were gripping his cock tighter and tighter.

“You are just my mistress, nothing more.”

“Don’t care about my position, believe me!”

“Your position is under me, only me!” Jon exclaimed a bit overdramatic, before pumping his seed deep inside Val, not stopping his thrusts until he was completely spent.

He wondered if he should go for a second round before Val took the decision out of his hands by shoving on his back and dropping herself down on him. She rode him much slower and controlled than he had her.

“You have stolen me. We are married now,” she said after the both found their final release for the night and laid in a loose embrace the bed formerly occupied by the Warden of the West. The spearwife was gently stroking his upper half with her soft fingers.

Jon didn’t voice his disagreement, in his mind he did not consider the two of them wed, but Val was his all the same.

 _I should convince her to become my salt wife formally. It’s not like she really cares._ Jon didn’t want to sire any bastards in his live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I feel the Rock is overrated in its fortifications. After the enemy manage to control of the outside, they only need to find one of the countless tunnels and caves inside. Depending of numbers and guidance through the interior walkways, the defenders aren’t necessary as safe as the biased Lannister POVs make us believe.
> 
> Casterly Rock is just too big to defend well with a reasonable sized garrison. Would it be a quarter of its canonical size then this chapter would look much different.
> 
> I decided to use Joy Hill as an example of how Jon could have ended up. Many just accept his loyalty to Robb, but in my opinion especially with Catelyn treatment he could rather easily thought differently. It helps that bastards are apparently more accepted in the North than central Westeros, which works to Joy Hills disadvantage. I included the wedding part because Joy is used twice as a cheap marriage option by Lord Tywin which shows that he doesn’t value her much.


	34. The King on the Wooden Throne (Cat II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat tries to negotiate with Renly.

Cat was frustrated and at a loss.

She had arrived at Renly’s camp just days after their final clash with the Lannister army in the Kingswood. Though the Lannisters had retreated into King’s Landing, the Reach and Stormlands had lost around three times the losses their enemies had. The already bloodied soldiers under Tywin Lannister were much more effective in battle against the mostly untested army of Renly. Renly’s great numerical superiority had been mostly invalidated in the great lush forest that made troop coordination extremely difficult.

The only surviving son of Lord Steffon Baratheon was destined to sit on the Iron Throne. Everybody knew it and several Lords of the Crownlands who had formerly served King Joffrey had sworn fealty to him over the last few weeks, most wanted to prevent themselves and their lands of sharing the looming fate of the Lannisters. The Lords of the Reach and Stormlands had already given their allegiance to their chosen King. Even Prince Doran Martell had sent a letter in which he promised Dorne’s loyalty for a ‘satisfying end’ of Lord Tywin, Ser Gregory Clegane and Ser Armory Loch as Renly had put it delightedly. It seemed that the Martells still thirsted for revenge after almost two decades.

Renly had made his stance on the future of Westeros clear. The North, the Riverlands and the Iron Islands wouldn’t be allowed to secede from the Iron Throne. The Baratheon had contemplated loudly to let Robb and Edmure hold their titles until their death but that was nothing more than an empty platitude. Everybody knew that the ironmen wouldn’t give up their independence and conquests peacefully.

Jon Snow did not deserve the blood of the North and the Riverlands that would flow because of his crown for both Robb and Edmure were surely going to support their ally.

_An ally who will damn us all._

The Lords of the Iron Islands had needed so long for their archaic Kingsmoot that Robb had already freed the Riverlands from the Kingslayer’s host. Now the ironmen were reaving the Westerlands even though the defeat of its overlord was already a long-gone conclusion.

House Greyjoy’s words were ‘We do not sow’. It seemed like Jon Snow had internalized his wife’s family’s creed.

“My Lady Stark?”

She looked up from her embroidery she had been doing in the tent she had been provided. The rainbow-striped silk cloak which was the sign of Renly’s ‘Rainbow Guard’ immediately fell into her eyes. The red colour of his suit of armour revealed him as Ser Robar Royce, now also known as Robar the Red. He was comely in a rough-hewn way. Robar had a serious expression on, maybe even sad. It was hard to read these pale eyes.

“His Grace wants to see you, we have received new from the Westerlands about your son,” he told her standing in the tent entrance.

Cat immediately knew something terrible had happened. She almost threw her current work down and rushed towards Renly’s big green tent, dotted with golden Tyrell roses, ignoring Ser Robar.

Her biggest worries flashed through her mind: Robb getting killed in battle by the Lannisters, poisoned by Jon Snow who he foolishly named his heir against all her arguments…

The guards at the entrance quickly made space to enter for her, she was clearly expected. Renly was sitting in a large wooden chair decorated by stags, the symbol of House Baratheon.

“Lady Stark!” he exclaimed, and she noted that it had not been spoken in his usual overly happy tone. The man did not even smile.

“What? What happened to Robb?!” Cat questioned him sharply. She did not wish to waste time with pleasantries.

“We got news from the west,” Renly explained calmly. “Your son Robb has apparently been ambushed at Deep Den and been captured by the Kingslayer. We do not know about his current condition or whereabouts. Be assured of my condolences.”

_No._

Cat’s chest tightened and she had trouble to breathe in for several moments. Robb was still alive, thankfully, but how much longer? The Kingslayer was not known for his honour, but the opposite. He had already killed the Mad King and the accursed Balon Greyjoy.

 _Does he want to add to his record?_ She could only pray it would not be so.

She barely perceived herself getting led back to her tent for she had too many questions without an answer.

Jon Snow would surely try to take Robb’s crown right now for himself and his half-bastard-half-kraken brood. He had boasted of his silver-haired daughter, Serra, loudly to Robb. The features seemed to confirm the rumours about Ashara Dayne. Maybe Dorne would even support the bastard because of his blood?

 _As long as Robb is alive there is hope_ , she repeated in her head again and again. Jon Snow had been named the heir in case of her son’s death, not as his regent in case of abstinence. She had to depart tomorrow, to secure Robb’s, or possibly Bran’s, or even Rickon’s rightful inheritance.

* * *

Everything had been packed by noon. Cat was ready to leave the camp in less than an hour. She only needed to talk with Renly about his plans for the North, now that the situation had changed so drastically. When she walked towards the royal tent loud cheering spread over the entire army.

Just before she reached the entrance Renly exited with a wide smile on his face, his smiling young Queen Margaery Tyrell besides him. The two were flanked by four of the Rainbow Guard.

“Your Grace,” she quickly greeted and made a respectful curtsey. “What is the reason behind your great mood?”

“They are gone,” Margaery spoke happily, prompting only more confusion.

“The Lannisters have abandoned King’s Landing with the royal fleet, taking with them almost all their men and wealth,” Renly expanded helpfully. “We shall now claim the city and the Iron Throne!”

“What about my daughters?!”

“I haven’t received any news about them,” Renly replied in a more serious tone though his grin did not completely fade.

 _Sansa… Arya…_ Her daughters had been held hostages in King’s Landing. She prayed desperately to the Mother to see them again in good health.

* * *

Cat was part of the large train of noble and common soldiers that entered the capital of the Seven Kingdoms through the symbolically chosen King’s Gate. The smallfolk were ecstatic about the always popular Renly’s entrance. The greatest cause for cheering were the freely supplied wagons of grain, vegetables and fruit. Renly and Margaery had proclaimed a day of celebration, exempting the inns, taverns and brothels from all their taxes for one week.

They arrived at the Red Keep without problems, all gates and drawbridges were lowered, by whom Cat did not know.

Loud murmuring filled her ears soon after for good reasons, the red stone walls were decorated with countless lions.

 _How petty…_ She had expected a nasty surprise, but this was both pathetic and underwhelming.

Renly, Margaery, her father Lord Mace and many other Reach- and Stormlords agreed to enter the Great Hall together. King Robert’s rightful heir would now finally begin his reign.

Cat had never entered the Red Keep before but she had seen many pictures and remembered them well enough to see the issue instantaneously.

Renly had stocked still until he suddenly threw his head back and laughed loudly.

“Never liked the hideous thing anyway, Robert always complained how uncomfortable it was.”

The opposite side of the long hall on the raised dais drew everyone’s gazes. The Iron Throne, the symbol of Aegon the Conqueror’s triumph over Westeros and the power of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was gone. The giant construct of hundreds of molten swords had vanished and only the lighter colour of the floor where it once stood was proof of its existence.

* * *

Renly Baratheon did look like a true King, even on his wooden throne Cat had already seen him use in the siege camp with Ser Loras as usual behind him. His Queen sat next to him on a plain stool with a satisfied expression. Cat herself and many other nobles of the Reach, Storm- and Crownlands were standing unorganized in the Great Hall.

Renly held up his hand, bidding for silence.

“The Lannisters have lost!” he declared loudly and many nobleman- and woman cheered. Cat herself couldn’t supress a smile. The wrenched lions had taken her husband from her forever, and Sansa and Robb for now at least. The North would hound them for the rest o their lives if they didn’t give her children their freedom. She doubted that the Magisters of Essos would accept the risk of keeping the Princess and King of the North. These merchants had not survived for so long by needlessly intervening in foreign wars.

“However,” Renly continued, “there are many who have claimed a crown for themselves these days. It’s like they are given out for a penny again! Haha!”

Cat didn’t miss the hidden meaning. The jest that coined the War of the Ninepenny Kings was a reference to Robb’s, Edmure’s and Jon Snow’s lacking legitimacy.

“Robb is the rightful King in the North,” she spoke up. “He is the Lord Stark of Winterfell, and the Starks only bowed to dragons. These dragons are now long gone.”

Considering the other present in the hall it wasn’t surprising that she received denying calls, some even insulted her, but Cat was easily able to ignore it.

“Robb Stark is captured,” Lord Randyll Tarly yelled. “Nobody knows how long he will live by the grace of the _Kingslayer_.”

“If I may speak, Your Grace,” a soft voice was heard.

Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, had reappeared from the hole he had hidden only hours after Renly’s triumph. The Baratheon had graciously pardoned him for any wrongdoing for he had helped him escape King’s Landing.

 _He did not rescue Ned._ Cat hated ‘the spider’. The Myrish eunuch had a fair share of blame in her Ned’s death.

“Speak, Lord Varys.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. According to my birds, the Young Wolf is currently in the grasp of Jaime Lannister’s host and healthy enough for travel. I assume they with will bring march to Crakehall. Jaime surely wants to follow his sister and their children.”

“Crakehall is one of the last strongly fortified keeps to the west under Lannister control,” a Reachman added who Cat didn’t recognize

“Indeed, Lord Oakheart,” Lord Varys continued. “Their further plans are anyone’s guess. However, I have some validated news that probably not everyone here has heard of.”

Lord Renly nodded to his Master of Whisperers. It seemed he was already informed.

“Jon Snow,” Renly spoke up, “the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark and half-brother of Robb Stark, the so-called King of the Iron Islands, has taken Casterly Rock. This also prompted the Lannisters to flee Westeros for they had lost their last great stronghold.”

Cat gasped for these were shocking news. Casterly Rock was considered unconquerable.

_He surely used some sort of trickery._

Ned’s bastard was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. This only proved him an even greater threat.

“It’s possible that the Imp wants to trade Robb for his captured big family. Almost all the remaining Lannisters of the main line in Westeros are now Snow’s hostages.”

This could be good thing, Cat recognized. She wasn’t quite sure however if she trusted the bastard with her son’s rescue. With Casterly Rock and King’s Landing taken the war had reached its end. Jon Snow’s time as heir was running out. She could still not believe it that Robb trusted the boy so much.

_Even if he doesn’t want kill Robb himself, his wife and her lot definitely won’t have that issue…_

She had to speak up in defence of Robb and Jon Snow anyway. It was pivotal to make the Three Crowns to look as threatening as possible to Renly and his most important bannermen.

“Jon is not a bastard anymore, he was legitimized and named his heir by Robb himself,” she declared.

Someone yelled from the back of the crowd. “Only the true King can legitimize bastards! And the true King is Renly Baratheon!” Whoever he was, he found loud approval.

“So,” Queen Margaery lamented in a sweet tone. “Either we fight against two Kings or three Kings, no matter what happens…”

Cat immediately took the chance. “There is no need for bloodshed. Robb, Jon and Edmure are all ready to negotiate a lasting-”

“There is only one King and his name is Renly,” Ser Loras interrupted her zealously.

“The Iron Throne is gone, Ser Loras, and so are the Targaryens. King Robert won his crown through bloodshed, so King Renly can hardly dispute my son the right to do the same. Too many mad monarchs have disregarded their duties to protect the realm!”

“My husband will be different,” Queen Margaery replied to her.

“The same thing was said about King Aerys the Second and his brother who spent without inhabitations.”

The Tyrell girl didn’t have anything to counter Cat’s argument apparently and remained silent.

Renly held his hand up again. “I do not wish for needless bloodshed among my people, even if they are misguided,” Renly declared. “We are outnumbering them almost three to one. Let’s approach them with an offer for talks. We shall receive them as honoured guest in King’s Landing under the sacred laws of hospitality. The Seven shall damn us if we break them!”

His verdict was followed by words of praise for the King’s mercy and prudence. Cat herself was satisfied. Robb had to absolutely be freed as soon as possible. She did not trust the Northern Lords to react to the offer for talks favourably with their King in Lannister captivity. Her son had to end the conflict which had begun with his father’s death.

The rest of the meeting were official appointments to the Small Council. Lord Mace Tyrell would be Renly’s hand and Lord Redwyne his Master of Ships. With the royal fleet still under Lannister control and the threat of the unchained Ironborn the last declaration was one of the most important.

According to Petyr who had joined King Renly’s side and remained Master of Coin, Cat’s only nephew Robert Arryn had unfortunately died because of his sick constitution. The new Lord of the Vale would be the distantly related Ser Harrold Hardyng who would likely ask Renly to grant him the more prestigious Arryn name. Cat could only hope her sister hadn’t taken the loss to harshly, but she doubted it.

* * *

Cat had just ridden out of the front gate of the Red Keep the next day, surrounded by her guards and on the way to pray in the great Sept of Baelor for her sister and children, when she heard an exclamation.

“Mother!”

“Arya!” She had recognized the young female voice instantly and looked now around in a hurry.

There her younger daughter was running towards her, weaselling through Cat’s five Northmen. A small dirty child who she would normally not spend any attention on. The grey long dress she wore had turned more in an ugly ragged light-brown bag one could normally only seen on the poorest peasants’ bodies.

Cat quickly jumped from her horse and pulled her youngest daughter in a tight hug. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two years.

After a long reunion she was able to loosen her grip on Arya.

“Where’s Sansa?” Cat asked. Her oldest daughter was nowhere to be seen.

Arya frowned. “She is still with these stupid Lannisters. They are fleeing to the Free Cities.”

 _My poor child…_ It was quite well known by now that King Joffrey the Illborn was a true mad man. The High Septon had been caught and imprisoned by the Lannisters when the leading members of the Faith tried to escape the city around two months ago. The Most Devout had quickly been freed on Renly’s orders.

“I jumped off the ship when nobody was looking,” Arya added with a small giggle to explain the reason behind her surprising appearance.

“Why did you not enter the Red Keep earlier?”

Arya pointed to the guards in front of the draw bridge behind them. “Oh, these men didn’t believe me when I introduced myself as Arya Stark! I waited here since yesterday.”

Cat sent the fools a reproachful look. All kinds of terrible things could have happened to her daughter when she was left alone in this chaotic and cruel city. Thankfully, it seemed like the girl was alright.

“Come on, Arya,” Cat said and grabbed her right hand. “Let’s quickly go inside so you can bath and get new clothes. You will become sick if you remain in this filth any longer.”

She guided her daughter to the chamber she had used for the last night. Fortunately, Arya did not decide to make much trouble for once.

“Has Jon truly taken Casterly Rock?” Arya asked excitedly. “After the news arrived the Lannisters went completely mad! Cersei and Joffrey screamed and snapped at everyone from their rage.”

“I have been told not much more myself. Robb has sadly been captured by the Kingslayer.”

This dampened Arya’s mood a bit, but she was still smiling. “Jon will rescue Robb. Believe me, Mother, I know it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How can the Lannisters just give up?  
> Because they lost absolutely. King’s Landing is besieged and the Westerlands have fallen. The best option was self-imposed exile to come back later. They have no real powerbase anymore.
> 
> The Lannisters were already doomed from the start of the war and were in canon as well. Cersei literally fucked them with the incest, losing them their alliance with the Stormlands. Joffrey forced the North into war by executing Eddard Stark, de facto making Sansa being a hostage more of a hinderance than a boon.  
> Honestly, the fact that GRRM lets the Lannisters remain on the Iron Throne with most of the realm loyal to them after the war is already a massive stretch for me. Literally EVERYTHING went in their favour with them barely moving their own asses. The Lannisters should have lost by all metrics, and as such they did in this story. Who knows if they come back.
> 
> Why did the Lannister not blow up half the city with wildfire?  
> Because in my opinion that’s not what you should be doing if you want to try to reclaim your ‘rightful’ throne.


	35. Short Negotiations (Jon XXIV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion Lannister tries to bargain Robb for his captured family in the Rock.

_Jon,_

_I am sending this letter from Faircastle. The castle is under Mance Rayder’s command. Lord Sebaston Farman died when we stormed the walls._

_The rest of Fair Isle is controlled by the Free Folk or us Ironborn including Clifton Keep. The smallfolk are a bit unruly. Some of the Free Folk are as unhinged as we expected though Mance seems to try his best. He might ask us to deport some of the worst Free Folk offenders to the Stepstones in the future. I gave Mance three longships without clear purpose to transport parts of the smallfolk to Westerling land if they can’t coexist peacefully._

_We have taken Lord Sebaston’s two children, his sister and her five living Clifton children all as hostages, the other seven Cliftons were killed. Lord Sebaston’s oldest son Androw Farman has just passed his fifteenth name day. I will move them all to Pyke in one week if you don’t send another order before then. I will travel and remain on Pyke with Serra._

_Please stay on the mainland and lead the war to its conclusion._

_I lost the babe on the third day after the Black Wind departed Lannisport. Sorry._

Jon did not know what to think. His first instinct was to meet Asha himself, but she explicitly wished not to see him right now. He had been excited for their second child, but the Gods turned out to be cruel once more.

In the end he decided to honour his wife’s wish. She already had her mother at Pyke who had painfully lost her two oldest sons herself. It was probably better if the women talked about these topics privately. Jon had nothing of great value to say. He disliked how Asha apologized as it was her fault when she could just blame him as easily for sending her away.

After a short pause he looked to a second open letter on his desk that he had already read. Tyrion Lannister had sent him a message from Silver Hill and announced his visit to Casterly Rock in the next few days. He wanted to trade Robb’s live and freedom for his family and other concessions. At least the Imp declared that he wouldn’t ask for the Rock itself.

* * *

The Imp arrived at the Lion’s Mouth per cog two days later. Several news had reached Jon by then. The Lannisters had fled King’s Landing with the Iron Throne. Jon didn’t know anything about Sansa and Arya’s fates, but he feared the worst for them.

King Renly was ready to negotiate with the Three Crowns in Westeros’ greatest city. It was more important than ever that Jon could get Robb out of captivity.

Jon had met Tyrion Lannister during the King’s visit to Winterfell before though they had not shared any words. He was very curious about the (former) heir of the Rock. The man had a terrible reputation. Jon knew however from his own example that you should not judge a person because of his birth alone. The Imp’s letter had already been very eloquently formulated.

Val was also curious about the man and was sitting casually on small wooden cabinet in a thin white dress. Jon had to concentrate to not be distracted by her alluring figure. Since their first night together the spearwife was convinced that they were now bound together by the loose Free Folk version of marriage. It had an interesting consequence on their dynamic. While Val had often only reluctantly obeyed his orders both in private and in public, she now was much more submissive to him in the presence of other while obstinate when the two of them was alone. Val was apparently really trying to appear as a cultured woman. She wasn’t quiet about being annoyed from all the insults she and her people had to suffer and wanted to make a living counterexample. On the other side Val was also forcefully carving out her place in Jon’s own life as his woman. He honestly hadn’t complained yet because she was truly intelligent. Jon dreaded however any clashes Asha and Val would undoubtedly have. Neither of them gave up easily.

Joy Hill opened the door to Jon’s solar with a wide smile. The Imp was her favourite relative she had told him and happily accepted the task to lead her uncle to Jon. The man in question entered the chamber after Ser Gerion’s baseborn daughter. The plump Lady Genna Lannister – she didn’t want to be called Frey – followed them in one of her usual long red dresses. Lady Genna had fortunately turned out to be very cooperative and therefore helpful because of her children.

Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf, with stubby legs, a jutting forehead, mismatched eyes of green and black, and a mixture of pale blond and black hair. He was an ugly thing, no matter from which perspective.

The Lannister, dressed in a classic, albeit small, Lannister red tunic with golden threads and a simple black cloak grinned when he took Jon and the room in.

“You know, Your Grace,” he said jestingly, seating himself on the chair prepared on him and grabbing the full wine goblet, “I always dreamed that my father wouldn’t sit on this be able to sit behind this desk anymore, but I always envisioned myself as his successor. I wonder who of us he would prefer.”

Jon had already heard from the terrible relationship between the Lord Tywin and his second son. It was one of the main reasons why Tyrion was not such a valuable hostage as his position should make him.

Jon wanted to get to the main topic quickly. “Where’s my brother?”

“With my own brother, in cave a few kilometres south of Lannisport.”

“And his condition?”

Tyrion frowned. “The earlier he gets treated by a Maester the better. Maester Creylen has forged multiple silver links for his chain. Is he still alive?”

“He is,” Lady Genna added simply after Jon gave her a questioning look. She had decided to stand next to her nephew.

Jon had seen several Maesters in Casterly Rock in the last few days but didn’t know any names. He knew from Maester Luwin that a silver link signified a Maester’s study of the medicine, healing, and the functions of the body. Multiple links of the same metal on a Maester's chain symbolized the greater expertise of the Maester on the subject. It seemed like Maester Creylen was rather advanced on the field of healing. Something that spelt dire news for Robb.

“You wrote that he was responsive and able to travel,” Jon accused the Imp sharply and full of worry.

“The Maester at Silver Hill deemed your brother’s injury as too heavy and decided to amputate. I am not an expert, but his decision did seem well-reasoned to me, someone who read many books about wounds and infections.”

Jon wasn’t completely convinced, but his instinct told him that the Imp told the truth. He would see his brother soon for himself if the negotiations went as intended by both sides.

“So, what do you want for Robb’s freedom? Your uncles, aunts and cousins?”

“Indeed, everyone who bears the Lannister name, and a naval escort for all of them and our men to Tyrosh.”

“You heard of your family’s flight then? Doesn’t put you in a very strong position to negotiate.”

“We have your brother, the King in the North, at least we had him when we left,” Tyrion answered swiftly. “We both want to see our family in good health and in freedom. Let’s not play coy.”

Jon couldn’t argue with him. The fact that Robb was King made him in truth much more valuable than all of the hostages Jon had in the Rock combined. Robb’s parentage was the link between the Riverlands, the North and Jon as the King of the Iron Islands.

"I did not get the feeling that you are very close to your wider range of relatives from what I have heard over the last days”

“You’re right,” Tyrion simply answered. “They are still my family though.”

Jon respected the Lannister’s answer. His own would have likely sounded similar in the same situation.

He decided to get back to the actual negotiations. “I don't think that I have to say that I want my sisters in good health returned to Winterfell. You will get the married men, and all the women and children. All men older than twenty-five and without their own family will be sent to take the black.”

The Wall needed men and Jon would deliver them. He had already sent almost five hundred guards and approximately a thousand poor men-at-arms in good shape northwards. A few Lannister knights would fit right in and possibly make able and faith-inspiring commanders in the fight against the Others. The white raven which signified the arrival of winter had arrived not even a week ago.

Tyrion thought about his proposal for almost half a minute and refilled his wine goblet twice before accepting with a nod.

“What about my relatives claims?”

“All non-Lannister nobles of the Westerlands are to swear fealty to me. Those who don’t have lands along the coast north of Feastfires are free to hold their ancestral lands in the future, possibly with cessions. Are there any Lannisters who are in direct line to inherit anything that’s not Casterly Rock or Lannisport?” Jon asked.

Jon didn’t want any Lannisters to remain in power inside his lands. They would likely never be loyal to him. The lesser Houses were however vital for his grasp on the land and its people.

Lady Genna nodded this time. “Darlessa Marbrand is the cousin and heir of Addam Marbrand who is the new Lord of Ashemark after his father’s… unfortunate demise. Her son is Tyrek Lannister. He was in King’s Landing. Darlessa is almost mad from worry.”

“Ser Addam has decided to join my brother in exile which would make Darlessa the rightful Lady of Ashemark,” Tyrion spoke. “I think it’s safe to assume that Tyrek is in Tyrosh with the rest of the family as well.”

“I can’t accept that Tyrek becomes the heir, obviously. Who comes after them in the succession?”

“Lord Damon Marbrand’s aunt Jeyne Marbrand was my own mother,” the only female Lannister present answered again. “This make my oldest brother Tywin the next to inherit.”

 _Should I just take it for myself, and grant it to someone I can trust?_ It did not look like there was another acceptable possibility right now.

“I will take it for myself for now,” he declared. “I will decide the fate of Ashemark at a later date. I might grant it to Joy Hill. Anyone else?”

“Lord Antario Jast of Jast Castle was married to Lanna Lannister from the closest cadet branch and burnt in Lannisport. His oldest son is only three.”

“How far removed from the main branch is Lady Lanna?”

“She’s the daughter of one of my countless cousins who are Tyrion’s aunts and uncles.”

“He shall remain here in Casterly Rock with his mother and take charge of his lands when he reaches his majority then. The same applies for all who are descended from a Lannister mother of Casterly Rock or any Lannister of Lannisport.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Tyrion remarked.

“It’s practical. There are too much of your brood, I can’t attain the titles of two-thirds of all knightly and noble Houses of the Westerlands.”

“Do you really think the remaining Lords will ever be loyal to an Ironborn King who isn’t even an Ironborn himself?” Tyrion asked slyly. The Imp obviously doubted it. “These families have been ruled since millennia.”

“Aye, many won’t obey me at first probably, but I will treat and rule them well. I will not just use fear and brute force like your father, but benevolence and bilateral cooperation like my own father. True Loyalty can only be earned, not bought.”

The small Lannister didn’t seem convinced but did not argue either.

“Everyone you want to take with you is allowed to take one coffer with you with his own belongings,” Jon continued. “The Lannister heirlooms will not be touched, I promise.”

The last pledge he had been coaxed into by Lady Genna with sustainable help of Joy who was sitting next Val on the small cabinet. He sent the two blondes a quick smile.

“What about Father?” Joy immediately pipped up. “You swore that you will bring him back to me.

“Ser Gerion is free to come whenever he wants. Isn’t this your home, Joy?” After Jon saw her nod he continued to speak. “Lord Tyrion here will tell him to come himself or sent someone to bring you to him. How do you feel about that?”

“I will do that,” Tyrion assured his cousin.

“How about you go to your room and write a letter for your father?” Jon proposed.

“I will do that!” The girl quickly hushed out of the chamber.

“She seems happier than last time I met her,” Tyrion proposed.

Lady Genna huffed. “She also led the enemy directly into evening meal, a traitor to her own kin!”

“You get what you sow. You should have treated her better.” Jon didn’t want to comment much on this. He felt however that Joy was his responsibility because of his actions and their shared bastardy. He wanted to make her happy.

“My father will kill her,” Tyrion said with shocking calmness. “That at least explains how you were able to take the Rock so quickly, I heard something about wildlings as well?”

“Cave dwellers to be precise. They are clans of the Free Folk lived underground in the Frostfangs and are accustomed better to the dark than any other human.”

Tyrion laughed and slapped his mishappened legs. “Losing to a small bastard daughter of their own blood and the wildest wildlings. I can’t wait to see my father’s face when he hears the new songs! Hehe!”

“If this is all, then please deliver Robb and let’s write down all what we agreed upon to sign it. Robb should sign and be allowed to give his input as well, even though I doubt that he has anything to say. At last, I also wish you would write to all still resisting noble Houses of the Westerlands to bend the knee to me, Lord Tyrion.”

“Aye, I am ready to do that. I am not my father, however. Everything we write is just paper,” Tyrion said grimly.

Jon only nodded. It was foolish to think that the Lannister wouldn’t try to get the Iron Throne and their ancestral possessions back. In the moment the Lannisters were far from even trying to accomplishing this endeavour, lacking a powerful ally or bridgehead on Westeros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion is not a central figure in this story. I hope you don't dislike his character depicted here in the given situation.  
> The general fandom has turned Tyrion in an hero that suffers from his birth condition and loveless upbringing which is only half of the truth.  
> He is also 'Tywin Lannsiter light'. He is only loyal to himself and his family. His moral baseline is almost non-existant, cruelly killing innocents who have eaned his scorn for trivial acts. His ofter brough up non-consummation of his marriage with Sansa is not cause by his ethical inhibitions against rape, but by his trauma with Tysha.  
> Tyrion is not a good character, though sympathetic.
> 
> Reminder: Tyrion ordered Bronn to kill a bard and butcher him to then put the meat into the poorest smallfolk's food. He also rapes a whore in Volantis (while drunk).


	36. The Peace in the West (Jon XXV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war in the Westerlands comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual scenes with possibly dubious consent of a clearly traumatized person.

Robb arrived at two days later just before noon with a small sailing ship. Tyrion Lannister had sent one of his trusted men he brought with him back to Jaime with a letter directly after he and Jon had finished their talks.

The Kingslayer in golden armour was the first who left the ship, followed by a handful red cloaks. He ignored Jon and moved to greet his brother instead.

Jon was shocked how terrible his own brother looked. Robb had to be led by some serving wench over the plank onto the quay of the Rock. His right arm was severed just below the shoulder, even though it wasn’t immediately obvious from afar because of the long black sleeves of his tunic. Surprisingly, he wore a sheathed golden sword at his leather belt. He did not wear his iron crown. Jon was not even sure if Robb wore it in the battle where Jaime Lannister captured him.

_He doesn’t look like the King in the North._

Jon deemed himself as a rather experienced actor though and forced a well-practiced smile on his face when he walked towards Robb to lightly hug him.

“Jon! It’s so good to see you again!” At least Robb was in good spirits today. His face looked haggard and his eyes were bloodshot, but he still managed the laugh Jon had seen so often.

“I would love to say the same, but…” Jon trailed off.

“Don’t worry, Jon. These things happen during battle.”

“Have the Lannisters treated you well?”

“Aye, their jests are terrible, but I can’t complain about my living conditions. My arm was infected. It was the right choice to cut it off.”

They used small ponies to reach the top of the Rock. This was actually how the wealthy moved through the large tunnel system. Walking was just too exhausting. Jon was a bit angry that no one had deemed to explain it to him until the Imp had arrived the day before.

On the way, Jon gave his brother the fresh news that had arrived from King’s Landing. Renly had proposed to end the conflict before the winter truly begun by negotiating a lasting peace in King’s Landing. Arya had fortunately been able to free herself, even though Sansa continued to be a hostage by the Lannisters in Tyrosh.

The Rock had also received a raven from Sisterton. Lord Triston Sunderland had declared himself as King of the Bite, proclaiming his lands as the Three Sisters, the Pebble and the Paps. The letter had been signed by the all Lords and Ladies on the respective isles, so it had to be taken seriously. King Triston reasoned that with Robert Arryn’s death the main line of the family had died out. Any sworn oaths of loyalty to the Lords of the Eyrie were void. He further declared that he had no intention to raid or conquer the coasts of the adjacent North and Vale.

“Hmm, as long as they don’t raid our shore, I don’t have a problem to accept their crown as legitimate and trade with them,” Robb said. “I should write letters to Sisterton and White Harbour for peace.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed. “They might even be allies, even if they are small and barren, the Three Sisters are in a strategically strong position regarding the North’s safety on the south-east.”

They also spoke about conditions Jon and Tyrion had already talked about.

“You can’t allow the Lannister host to go into exile,” Robb said decisively. “They need to remain here, so they will never be a threat again.”

When they reached Jon’s solar, they met the already waiting Maester Creylen. Robb awkwardly drew the sword from his belt and laid it on Jon’s desk, afterwards he sat down on the bed while the Maester looked at his arm.

It was a longsword with a length of one meter, with grey-black and red ripples through the steel, with the red almost as dark as the grey. The pommel had a golden lion's head with ruby eyes that shined like two red stars, the symbol and colours of House Lannister. It was a mesmerizing sight for Jon.

“This is Oathkeeper,” Robb explained from the other side of the room. “The Lannisters melted Ice down and made two longswords from it. One was given to Joffrey, the other to Jaime Lannister. He gave it to me as part of our peace deal.”

“A nice gesture. I had completely forgotten about it.”

“You should wield it.”

Jon gasped from shock after his brother’s proclamation. This was half of the legendary ancestral weapon of the Starks of Winterfell after all, Robb's birthright.

“I can’t wield it well anyway. It’s better if it can be used by someone with two working hands.”

“Ice was to be inherited by you and your children,” Jon protested immediately.

“You are a Stark King as well now, no?” Tyrion jested from the side, standing next to Jaime with a half-emptied goblet in his hand. Jon was surprised the small man could still talk coherently from all the wine he had drunken since his arrival. “It will certainly make you look more royal for the negotiations in King’s Landing.”

The Imp made a good point. A Valyrian Steel sword was a general sign of powerful nobility.

On the other hand, Jon was scared to strengthen the rumours about him usurping his trueborn brother’s throne. While he wasn’t completely in touch with the gossip about him, Val had told him a few stories that were told between the smallfolk. They were generally all negative. Apparently, he was an evil King right from the children stories. His followers were manic murderers and rapists, Ironmen, Northmen and even wildlings. Jon himself was apparently the worst of the lot, having already savagely stolen Jeyne Westerling and many other noble maidens to still his bastardly urges. Jon had also slaughtered Lord Marbrand and desecrated his body, cruelly burnt down Lannisport and now forcefully turned all the countless young Lannister women and other female nobles who were currently hostages in the Rock into his salt wives.

Jon was becoming a scapegoat for everything bad that had happened in the Westerlands and it was not only vexing but also a growing issue. Most of the rumours were at least half-true, but everything was painted a lot worse than it was.

The longer he just let the gossip go on, the stronger it would become. Therefore, he had already opened the food storages for the poorest smallfolk and instructed the servants responsible for distributing the food to always emphasize how their new King Jon Stark generously decided to help his newly acquired suffering people. Lannisport was getting rebuilt as well. The cave dwellers had found more than enough gold in the deep vaults of Casterly Rock to finance the project.

Jon grabbed the golden pommel of Oathkeeper and swung it twice. It was truly a beautiful sword, and so light even. He had always wanted a Valyrian Steel sword for himself, just like every other boy and grown man on both sides of the Narrow Sea.

“I will give it back to your heir, brother.”

Robb laughed. “If it makes you feel better about taking the blade, do that.”

Jon mustered his brother’s injury after Maester Creylen stood up and moved to the side, revealing his brother.

“And, what’s your verdict, Maester?” he asked.

“Everything seems to be fine in my opinion. His Grace should rest however for the next month to recover his overall strength.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Robb thanked the older man. He then stood up and moved to sit down next to Tyrion, grabbing one of the already filled wine goblets. “Let’s move onto the treaty, now.”

Jon vehemently disagreed. “No, let yourself rest for the day. We shall talk tomorrow. Just write a letter to King’s Landing, Winterfell, and Riverrun that you are free again.”

“Hmm, alright. I will do that. Mother must be sick from worry. But stop treating me like some fragile maiden. I heard you have more lovers than I have fingers left.”

“Lie, there are only three,” Jon protested weakly.

Robb smiled. “Who’s the new one? A Lannister girl as rumoured?”

“Val, you know her.”

“Ah yes, the Wildling Princess. Many of my bannermen will be most disappointed when they hear the news. The Smalljon might shed a tear from his broken heart.”

“Are you joking? The Umbers hate the Free Folk to the bone!”

“No bone in a cock though,” Tyrion commented from the side. “I sure envy you for that wench. Maybe I should visit Fair Isle before my unwilling exile. Heh!”

“Ah, yes about that,” Robb stared at Jon. “Do you really want the wildlings on your land. They will surely cause all kinds of trouble.”

“I promised to bring them south, as you know. I am a man of my word.”

Tyrion perked up. “And why did you give your word? I don’t understand.”

Jon was sure it wasn’t the best answer, but in the end, he went with the truth. “The dead are coming with Winter.”

That only earned him laughs from both the Lannisters and Robb. “The dead?” Jaime questioned slyly with a grin. “Led by the White Walkers?”

“Aye, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont almost got killed by the risen corpse of a ranger in his own chamber,” Jon answered the question seriously. “That’s the reason why the Watch agreed to not make problems for Mance Rayder’s host until I have shipped them all away.”

“I received a raven from the Old Bear but thought it a jest by a bored black brother…” Robb trailed off. Regret and confusion were visible in his face.

Tyrion was not so easily convinced. “Have you seen these walking corpses yourself though? I also heard tales of dragon hatched in the east and the sight of a kraken before the coast of Dorne in the last few months. But these are all just stories, they come and go.”

“What about giants?” Jon asked the small Lannister. “Is Wun Wun also one of those stories?” Jon knew that the Imp had visited Lannisport the day before where he helped to move away the ashes and built some sheds for the homeless under Val’s watch. Apparently, Wun Wun had been quite traumatized by the terror of the fire and now wanted to help others instead of hurting them.

“That’s… a good point,” Tyrion conceded. Suddenly his eyes widened. “That’s why you want to send my kin to the Wall and so many others! Against the White Walkers!”

Jon just nodded. “The Watch is so weak right now. They would have likely been overrun by the Free Folk host by now. I don’t want to pit a thousand rapists, thieves, and murders against legendary magical monsters which could threaten all of Westeros. I am convinced by now that the Wall was built as a defence of the First Men against the Others for a good reason, so we should take the threat seriously.”

After several moments Tyrion slammed his goblet on the desk. “I want to make a deal!” he declared dramatically “Lannisport for… Let’s say until next spring.”

“Spring?”

“My brother’s host commands ten thousand men still. They will man the Wall with you two supplying them until spring. They will take the oath, but only until spring and not for the rest of their lives.”

“Brother!” Jaime spoke out loud with clear surprise. He obviously wasn’t enthusiastic about the Imp’s spontaneous idea – assuming it was really completely spontaneous.

_Ten thousand men. Experienced men with good equipment._

“And you want Lannisport for it? It’s half-ruined.” Jon was intrigued about the offer, but despite its state Lannisport was still the third biggest city on the continent, even after parts of it burned down.

“Aye, I did not get Casterly Rock, but rebuilding Lannisport to make it the most splendid city in Westeros is still an acceptable lot.”

“You are loyal to your family though, as you said yourself yesterday. Why would you not stab me in the back to get Casterly Rock too.”

“I am willing to stay unmarried for now, so the direct male Lannister line will possibly end with me and my brother here. We can talk about the succession after the winter when our side of the deal has been completed.”

“Will you go to the Wall as well?”

“Goodness, no!” Tyrion exclaimed. “I will stay in my future city. I always hated the shithole that is King’s Landing and Lannisport is just two steps above. Give me the means and I shall give your new kingdom a strong heart. Let’s be honest here: Pyke is Pyke, a barren rock near other rocks.”

Jon wasn’t convinced and Robb openly shared his sentiment. From their several shared conversation Jon knew that Tyrion was a very intelligent and well-read man. He could be one of his most competent vassals, but also a frightening enemy. This was like putting a viper in his own bed at evening and hoping one would wake up in the morning.

 _Would it not be better to have in directly in my sight?_ _Who knows what he will do in Essos…_

Tyrion had told him that he thought about seizing one or more of the smaller cities east of Valyria, like Elyria or Tolos. He had also looked at a book describing the Basilisk Isles and ruins of Gogossos, the tenth Free City, far in the south.

On the other side, if he bound Tyrion and Jaime to him the Lannisters in Tyrosh lost probably half their strength for several years. The summer had been so long, over ten years. The winter might be even longer.

_Nothing might matter if the Wall falls…_

“I need leverage. Otherwise I can’t trust you.”

“My relatives could remain here in the Rock, possibly later in Lannisport.”

“I already agreed with Lady Genna to let her family free,” Jon protested swiftly.

“You agreed to escort us to Tyrosh. Let’s give everyone a choice,” Tyrion proposed. “They can either go for exile or stay here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the majority remains. The Westerlands are their home and they are accustomed to luxury. Even if it pains me to say it, our family are unlikely to ever return to the level of power they had. We are hated by the majority of the realm’s citizen including a not small part of the Westerlanders. The Tyrells will do everything to ruin our reputation even more over the next years, be assured of that. We are destined to be the next House Blackfyre and Targaryen.”

The argument wasn’t bad. The Lannisters seemed truly not as such a big threat as he had initially assumed. The Lannisters were only known for their gold, and now they had lost it. Jon could also count on almost the entire continent if they tried to take their ancestral lands back.

“Stop!” Jaime interjected. “I have no plan to freeze my balls off either. I want to go to Tyrosh!”

“To see after your bastards,” Robb jested with a mocking laugh.

“Aye, and their mother.” The admission came without hesitation.

“Oh well, that means no deal then,” Jon spoke slowly. He had really entertained the idea.

Tyrion seemed to be rather attached to his imagined Lordship though. “Let’s call it a sentence for the common men-at-arms who want to remain in Westeros then. Many would surely rather go back to their families than try to search for glory in the east.”

_We really need the men at the Wall._

Jon had initially not concerned himself with the threat of the Others too much. He was more focused on the Iron Islands which seemed completely safe. After Robb’s captivity he had however realized the threat for the North should not be underestimated. The giant Wall had been built for a reason and it was useless without a large and competent garrison. Jon was ready to take the risk of Tyrion Lannister on his doorstep to potentially safe millions of his people.

_He is possibly even more disliked on the mainland than I am. Even his father hates him._

“Think about your sister,” Tyrion said at last. “My father is a stubborn man, but for Lannisport I am inclined to try my best to bring her back to your family.”

This final argument convinced Jon, and his brother as well considering his noticeable nod. They wanted to free Sansa above all. The Lannisters weren’t a serious threat in comparison to the possible harm she had to experience, right now.

“The Sept of Lannisport is still standing, fortunately,” he spoke after a few moments. “I will demand oaths of loyalty from every noble that will continue to reside in the Westerlands. You shall be the new castellan of Lannisport with all its responsibilities and duties. After the winter I might give you the Lordship over the city if you are able to convince me with your work and if my sisters are safe. Is that good enough?”

The Imp nodded. “I know my own worth. I won’t disappoint you… Your Grace.”

* * *

Over the two weeks Jon received four important letters, three from the Vale and one from King’s Landing.

In the first letter Ser Harrold Harrdyng – self-proclaimed Arryn – had declared himself as heir of the late Robert Arryn as his closest relative and as new King of the Mountains and the Vale.

In the second one Lord Goren Arryn of Gulltown from the richest Arryn cadet branch contested Harrold’s claim and declared himself King as well.

The third message that reached the ravens Harrold wrote that Gulltown had been seized by his loyal men and Lord Goren Arryn had been executed for treason. He also named himself as part of the Five Crown alliance, interestingly including the King of the Bite. This basically confirmed the secession of the Petty Kingdom as rightful. Tyrion theorized that the already small fleet which had laid at Gulltown had somehow been destroyed. Harrold could apparently not care less about the small isles for now and made his stance versus the bigger threat for his new title clear.

The final raven from King’s Landing a week later was the unsurprising reaction. Faced by the threat of the majority of the kingdom which now included the war-unscathed Vale, and possibly even the ominously silent Dorne in the south, the last male Baratheon boldly announced the commencement of a Great Council in six months, hosted in King’s Landing, to decide the future of the broken realm under the vanished Iron Throne.

After he read the call from Renly, Jon immediately decided that he had to secure the Westerlands for him as fast as possible. Right now, he was by far the strongest power in the region and none could safely contest him, but in King’s Landing suddenly everyone would receive a voice and the Tyrells were not to be underestimated.

He and Tyrion immediately send ravens out to all noble seats in the Westerlands to come to Casterly Rock to decide the new order and borders of the region under the rule of the House Stark of Pyke.

Surprisingly many nobles and knights of the Westerlands that hadn’t been captured arrived over the next days. Several Lords of the Iron Islands landed at the harbour of Lannisport as well, as did Tormund Giantsbane and Mance Rayder who wanted to secure the lands of the Free Folk, even though they thought the idea of treaties and Lordships laughable. Both were illiterate to worsen the situation.

Jon received the most important people in his live himself. Ghost jumped over the railing of the _Black Wind_ before the plank to quay in the Lion’s Mouth could be lowered and rushed at him. The animal was probably fully grown now, and as big as an average horse and was now on eye level with Jon. The sight of the massive beast coming towards him with high speed even frightened his companion a bit.

Jon could feel the direwolf’s happiness through their deep bond. Unfortunately, he seemed to be unable to completely dampen the stream of emotion that flooded his mind. It was significantly weaker than when Jon left him at Pyke however and he was sure that he would be able to manage his more primal instincts from this point onwards.

Jon quickly thought about Grey Wind while stroking Ghost’s white fur. Robb’s direwolf had been slain by Jaime Lannister because he tried to defend his companion. His brother had departed for Stoney Sept with a small guard two weeks ago. He needed to get back to his men who were still in the field.

He gave Ghost one last stroke and moved past him to quickly greet Rodrik who was the first one to leave the longship. Jon was unable to stop the Lord of Harlaw from bowing before him.

Afterwards he moved to lightly embrace the almost expressionless Asha tightly. She was dressed in her black combat leather clothes and held the sleeping Serra in her arms. His wife did not even try to return the gesture.

He leaned down to whisper in her hair. “Do you want to talk about…”

“No,” she snapped swiftly and shrugged him off. Then she staggered off.

_Does she even know where to go?_

Jon obviously knew that losing a child could be traumatizing for a woman but had not expected it to be this bad. It had been over two months since it had happened.

“Your Grace…”

The soft voice rattled Jon out of his thoughts. Jeyne _beamed_ at him in her light green gown. Jon recognized the dress as one he had gifted her as compensation for what he had done on their wedding night. She had been rather happy on Pyke in the last month Jon had observed through Ghost, but he was confused why she was still in such a great mood in his presence. It was a good thing no matter the cause though, and Jon wouldn’t complain. Maybe his salt wife was mentally stronger than he had thought.

Jeyne took a few steps and stopped right in front of him. She moved her hand on her stomach.

“I am with child, Your Grace!” she proudly spoke with a slight smile. “I found it out only days ago. I originally thought I was just seasick.”

_Well, that explains Asha._

Regardless of the Ironborn woman’s current emotion Jon could not contain his joy about the blessed news.

“I can’t wait for our child,” he declared with a laugh.

Jon looked but didn’t see a baby bump behind her long dress. A quick calculation showed that it had been just about four months since the only possible night of conception.

“Me too, Your Grace! I hope I can bear my King many more healthy children in the future.”

* * *

“How’s your brother?” Rodrik asked, breaking the silence after Jon had explained what had happened in the last weeks.

He, Asha, and Jon were sitting alone in the dining chamber in the former Lannister quarters. A quick glimpse through Ghost’s eyes showed that he was protecting Serra and Jeyne.

“The lack of his main hand will hinder him of course,” Jon replied. “He didn’t look really healthy but the Maester says he might not suffer as much as many others with missing limbs.”

“Will he continue to be King?”

“Aye, and he also wants his betrothal with House Frey. I am doubtful about my sister’s part though.”

“Arya, no? Are your sister both free?”

“Only my younger, Sansa is still with the Lannisters.”

“So, we will write a formal treaty with Tyrion and Jaime?”

“I thought about doing a peace treaty with all nobles of the Westerlands that are available before the Great Council. I already summoned them with Tyrion and Jaime’s help.”

Rodrick nodded. “A good idea. Renly and the Tyrells are scared right now. Even if they could win on the field, they would only earn the scorn of all other kingdoms. What do you think about the new Kingdom of the Bite?”

“It’s on the other side of Westeros. It doesn’t really concern us, no?” Asha spoke up for the first time.

Jon just nodded. He did not think that the small power would make much of a splash. Either the North or the Vale would likely try to seize them after the winter before Triston Sunderland could die of natural causes.

_Maybe there will be a second War Across the Water._

Jon did not really have an interest in the isles for now. He had visited them a few years ago and judged them to be almost worthless.

“We should not only go for peace, but actively force their allegiance,” Rodrik spoke. “We need to consolidate as much power as possible. I think we should officially integrate the entire Westerlands in our Kingdom.”

Jon trusted the man who he had let be in charge of the Iron Islands, and the proposal was just an extension of Jon’s own plan. Therefore, he approved.

“It will take some time and sweat though, but if you think it’s the right option then we shall do it,” he declared.

Seeing that everyone was finished with eating, he said. “I want to talk with Asha, alone. Follow me.”

His spouse looked a bit disgruntled but let herself be led into Jon’s bed chamber. He sat himself down on the burgundy coloured bed and pulled off his boots.

“I am not in the mood, Jon. If you want to fuck ask Val or Jeyne, maybe even both. Jeyne seems to like it rough it seems,” she said almost mockingly.

“This is not about me or Val or Jeyne. Come here and hug me.” He even opened his arms widely while making himself comfortable.

“Are you crazy? Definitely not!”

“If you don’t move here from your own free will, I will just order you,” Jon spoke lightly. “I am both your husband and your King.”

Wanting to avoid further humiliation, Asha finally relented. The embrace turned a bit awkward with Asha hiding her face from his sight by tucking her head behind his shoulder.

Jon stroked her back but remained silent. He knew that it was better to let his rock wife speak on her own terms.

After half a minute Asha shifted a bit. “I am not some fragile girl,” she said quietly.

“I know. You're the strongest Queen any King could wish for.”

“And I am not jealous of Jeyne.”

“Hmmm…”

Jon expected that Asha would start to cry but she seemed to have a will strong enough to not break down like he had in her arms at Castamere.

“Do you want to try again?” he asked slowly. “It’s your decision alone.”

The young woman in her arms tightened her arms around his torso.

“I already said that Serra is enough for me.”

Jon remembered that. “I saw how happy you were over Serra’s birth and when you told me about the pregnancy. You are free to change your mind, you know.”

Asha didn’t reply for a while. “I… I will think about it. Alright?”

“Aye.”

Asha withdrew herself from Jon a few minutes later and stood back up.

“I am going to look for Val and survey Lannisport with her,” she said as if nothing had happened.

“Do what you want. Just remember that if you have any issues you can always talk to your husband.”

“Sure, Jon.”

* * *

Jon, Asha and Rodrik started their talks with the present nobles two days later. After the fourth day which included Tyrion Lannister’s early plans for Lannisport and a long debate with Lanna and Damion Lannister about their (grand)sons' and House Jast’s future he entered tiredly his empty bedroom.

Despite having three theoretically available women in the vicinity, he had spent all of his last nights alone. Asha seemed still unwilling to try for a new child, Jeyne was already quite far into her pregnancy and Val had decided to occupy Jon’s mansion in Lannisport with her best friend Wun Wun. The spearwife had told him that she disliked living in the Rock because she was ‘not a cave dweller but a free spirit’.

Jon fell asleep quickly. His dreams were as usual filled with flames in form of burning cities, several dragons, and a glowing sword. He was slowly even becoming sick of fireplaces.

Later a more pleasing sight offered itself to him. Val, Asha, and Jeyne were kneeling naked at his feet while Jon sat on the Golden Throne in the Golden Gallery. They used their tongues to worship his cock in front of nobles of the Westerlands, Iron Islands and North with great enthusiasm.

“Your Grace,” Jeyne moaned dizzily with hooded eyes. “No woman alive could deny your grand manhood!”

Jon had long since realized that this wasn’t really happening, ridiculous as the setting was, but that didn’t dampen his joy about his current position. He was quite pent up.

_It’s truly good to be King!_

Suddenly a smaller beautiful woman with Valyrian features, silver hair and purple eyes, stepped out of the crowd and kneeled before him. Then she swallowed half his length. He had never seen her before, but it didn’t matter. The feeling of her tight lips around his shaft was glorious.

“Keep sucking, whore!” Jon ordered delightedly and groaned from the pleasure he was receiving.

“Yes, Your Grace!”

The submissive reply startled him a bit.

_Hold up! This voice…_

Jon forced his eyes open and found himself back in his bed. His cock was still getting sloppily massaged by someone’s mouth he immediately felt. A quick glimpse down his body revealed wildly shaking long light-brown hair between his legs.

“Jeyne!” he gasped. “What are you doing?”

The pregnant woman, completely undressed, stopped her ministrations to looked up with wide eyes.

“The Queen mentioned that Your Grace has been lonely in the last nights and I volunteered to comfort you. The Queen also told me that you would enjoy this service.”

_Is this Asha thanking me?_

Jeyne went back to her act and Jon let her. Her lacking technique was compensated by her obvious fervour to please him. Jon didn’t believe that he deserved her newfound adoration for him after he had raped her, but his salt wife seemed as happy as in his recent dream.

Remembering Asha’s words that Jeyne apparently liked it a bit rougher he moved his hand to the back of head and slowly pushed her down.

“Mmmh.”

The Westerling gladly sucked harder on his cock, prompting Jon to continue forcing her down on his manhood while stroking her brown hair and thrusting upwards to reach the back of her throat.

Eventually, he spilled himself inside her mouth. Jon didn’t even have to ask her to swallow for Jeyne soundly gulped down his seed without hesitation.

“Did I please you, my King?” she asked with a dazed expression.

“Indeed, you did. Thank you, Jeyne.”

“I shall do it again then whenever you desire, Your Grace.”

“Aye, come lay next to me now. I want to feel our child.”

Jeyne happily followed his wish and Jon laid his hand on her swollen belly. Now, that she was naked and not on her stomach anymore, he could see the already sizable bump.

Jon positioned the smaller woman with her back to him, so he spooned her with his arms around his salt wife’s sides and soon fell in the easiest slumber he had experienced since months.

* * *

The exhausting talks continued for over a month. Some were quite rough, because Jon reallocated lands to those who had cooperated with him the most. Jeyne had been sent by her mother to ask for a reward for her parental Houses Westerling and Spicer and Jon complied. He still felt a bit bad for Asha and himself forcing her to marry him.

Jeyne had initially pleasured him every night and morning despite her condition, until Asha had decided to return to his bed almost permanently. She had declared that she would be glad if she got pregnant or not which Jon did not call out as the obvious lie which it was.

Val had also come to him thrice. While Asha seemingly preferred a more sensual coupling right now with many kisses and caresses, Val liked to be as rough as possible which made the negotiations on the respectively following day feel like torture. Considering that Asha always slept in her private room without announcement when the spear wife appeared from Lannisport where she worked together with Wun Wun and Tyrion, Jon assumed that the two had made some sort of secret agreement.

The formal peace treaty had been drawn up over one month later, so it could be signed by all important nobles of the Westerlands and the Iron Islands, Jon, Asha and Robb, and possibly other crowned Kings, particularly Edmure and Renly. It’s declaration also doubled as the founding document of the new ‘Kingdom of the West’ which was ruled by the Royal House Stark of Casterly Rock, formerly of Pyke. Casterly Rock had out of pragmatic reasons chosen to be the capital of the entire Kingdom and the primary royal seat. Pyke itself would remain as a secondary royal seat. The arrangement was somewhat justified by acknowledging House Greyjoy as a Royal House without acknowledging or even mentioning its actual claims, because Jon as the monarch lacked any blood connection that was given for Asha and Serra. Asha's uncle Victarion was supposed to be made the founder and Lord of a new noble cadet branch of House Greyjoy, but the appointment hadn't been written into the treaty because the man refused the plan. The Ironborn had insisted on earning his noble title, seat and lands himself by paying the iron price.

Jon had been blessed by a septon and a priest of the Drowned God with his newly remade crown which constituted of several real branches of the original weirwood and fake ones of pure gold. The metal addition made it unfortunately quite heavy and uncomfortable to wear.

The treaty turned out to be more than three dozen documents, mostly written by Rodrik with some defining the Kingdom’s borders and other allocating and attaining titles or lands. Thankfully, Jon as the King could still change everything in the future as he wished, regardless of what they had decided upon now.

He had made many concessions from his part but felt that many of them were necessary or practical. The more parties he was able to satisfy and make inclined to adhere the treaty without hurting to many others too much the stronger would be the foundation of his rule. Breaking the treaty should promise staunch opposition from all sides.

Robb and Edmure would surely not disapprove of the treaty and sign it or a secondary document at a later point to give it further legitimacy. Jon further hoped that he could convince Renly in King’s Landing to accept the paper’s conditions and claims as well. It would be one of his most important goals for the Great Council.

* * *

**_The Peace in the West of the first day of the fourth month of the year 300 after Aegon’s Conquest [in excerpts]_ **

_The following treaty is to be obeyed by all mentioned parties and their vassals. To respect its conditions is willed by the Seven, the Old Gods and the Drowned God._

_[…]_

_The new Kingdom of the West shall constitute of the equal regions of the Iron Islands and the Westerlands. Its capital shall be Casterly Rock. King Jon the First of His Name of the House Stark of Casterly Rock and his descendants shall rule justly over the land and people until the end of time._

_All nobles of the Westerlands are to swear allegiance to their new liege Jon Stark, King in the West under the eyes of the Gods._

_[…]_

_The Westerlands are ruled directly from the primary royal seat of Casterly Rock._

_The Iron Islands are ruled directly from the secondary royal seat of Pyke on the island of Pyke._

_[…]_

_Lord Rodrik Harlaw is hereby appointed as the regent of the Iron Islands Islands and the island of Pyke. Queen Dowager Alannys Greyjoy is hereby appointed as the regent of the royal castle of Pyke itself._

_[…]_

_All prisoners of war are to be released under the terms of their respective captors. Sansa Stark is to be escorted to Winterfell in good health._

_[…]_

_All commoners and nobles from the Westerlands who are willing are to be given escort and free passage to Essos. They are to be exiled from Westeros for the rest of their lives._

_All men-at-arms of Ser Jaime Lannister’s host and grown noblemen that were either part of the host or hostages of the Westerosi sovereigns who wish to remain in Westeros will serve for seven years or until the arrival of spring at the Wall as a brother of the honourable Order of the Night’s Watch. After their service they shall be free men once again._

_The Westerosi Kingdoms shall be supplying the Wall with all necessary food and resources._

_Both the sentence to exile and to take the black are revocable by any Westerosi sovereign._

_[…]_

_Tyrion Lannister is hereby named castellan of Lannisport. If he does not overstep his station, proves his ability and loyalty to his Kings, and remains without trueborn children he shall be named Lord of Lannisport after seven years or with the arrival of spring._

_Ser Jaime Lannister shall remain unmarried and without trueborn children for the rest of his life in exile._

_[…]_

_The noble seat of Ashemark and its allocated dominion is to be given to Lady Darlessa Marbrand, widow of Ser Tygett Lannister. Her heir shall be her son Tyrek Marbrand if he swears loyalty to his new King. Otherwise the new Lord and Lady of Ashemark shall be determined after seven years or with the arrival of spring._

_[…]_

_The Lord of Jast Castle and all its lands is hereby confirmed to be Myrren Jast as oldest son of the late Lord Antario Jast. Until he reaches the age of majority, Myrren Jast is to be fostered on Blacktyde under Lord Baelor Blacktyde. His regent shall be his mother Lady Lanna Lannister._

_[…]_

_Lady Val of the Free Folk is hereby named the Voice of the Free Folk living inside the borders of the Kingdom. The Voice of the Free Folk reports directly to the King and is responsible for the peaceful and prosperous cohabitation of the Free Folk with all other people of the Kingdom and the realms beyond its borders._

_[…]_

_Giants are to be considered equal to men with the same responsibilities and opportunities. They are free to live wherever they want in the Kingdom and are free from paying taxes. The Voice of the Free Folk is responsible for their peaceful and prosperous cohabitation of the Giants with all other people of the Kingdom and the realms beyond its borders._

_[…]_

_The new Lord of the Banefort is hereby confirmed to be Tormund of the new noble House Giantsbane. His oldest son Toregg the Tall and his descendants shall be his successors. They are to rule and govern their allocated lands in accordance to the laws and customs of the Kingdom, the Gods, and the Free Folk._

_[…]_

_The new Magnar of Fair Isle is hereby confirmed to be Mance Rayder. He shall be succeeded after his death by a man chosen by the inhabitants of Fair Isle with the King’s approval._

_[…]_

_The cave dwellers of the Frostfangs are allowed to live and mine metals in the natural caves and artificial tunnels in the Pendric Hills and Casterly Rock. They are subject to all laws and customs of the Kingdom. Their internal hierarchy is to be determined by the cave dwellers themselves. They shall be represented by Chieftain Guru. His successor is to be chosen by Chieftain Guru with the King’s approval._

_[…]_

_The dominion of House Westerling shall from now include the lands of the knightly House Sweetgreen of Sweetgreen, the knightly House Pengrace of Pengrace Keep and the noble House Droxx of Tarriton._

_[…]_

_The dominion of the noble House Estren of Wyndhall shall from now reach until the source of the Suncreek in the northern Pendric Hills to the south-west._

_[…]_

_Ser Roland of the noble House Spicer is hereby the new Lord of the formerly knightly seat of Clegane Keep and rule over its allocated lands._

_[…]_

_Signed,_

_Jon, the First of His Name, of the Royal House Stark of Casterly Rock, King in the West_

_Queen Asha Stark of the Royal House Greyjoy of Pyke_

_Lord Rodrik Harlaw of the Ten Towers_

_Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy of the Iron Fleet_

_[...]_

_Lord Castellan Tyrion Lannister of Lannisport_

_Ser Jaime Lannister_

_Lady Genna Lannister_

_Ser Stafford Lannister_

_Ser Daven Lannister_

_[…]_

_Ser Damion Lannister_

_Lady Regent Lanna Lannister of Jast Castle_

_[…]_

_Ser Addam Marbrand of Ashemark_

_Lady Darlessa Marbrand of Ashemark_

_Lord Regenard Estren of Wyndhall_

_Lord Gawen Westerling of the Crag_

_[…]_

_Lord Roland Spicer of Clegane Keep_

_[…]_

_Lady Val Stark_

_Mance Rayder_

_Guru_

_T_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !IMPORTANT!  
>   
> The rape of Jeyne Westerling by Jon, even if it was arguably not even his fault, was received by a vocal share of the readers quite negatively. I have rewritten the chapters minimally and made the first sex scene more consensual, but barely changed the latter.  
> I was honestly surprised and disappointed how so many people seem to be either unwilling or unable to maturely deal with this topic, especially in this fandom.  
>   
> Both the books and the show depict several rape scenes of different extremity. The most relevant I can count down from my memory are Dany/Drogo, Cersei/Jaime, Asha/Qarl and Sansa/Ramsey.  
> I dislike how in both ASOIAF and GOT the important women ‘barely suffer’ from this. Especially for Sansa the rape seems like more of a plot device to radically change her character. In general, rape/non-consensual sex gets depicted in canon with minimal negative and mostly positive consequences in many instances which plays down the actual act and dramaturgically justifies them.  
>   
> In both canon and fanfiction there are often two types of rape aftermaths:  
> If a main character is the victim: positive character development, the person suddenly gets a spine, actual love, …  
> If a secondary/background character is the victim: depression, suicide, social incompetence, …  
>   
> This is somewhat of a different story after my intentions: Jeyne Westerling suffers from a trauma, but combined with the classic conditioning that young noblewoman receive in Westeros (please your husband, etc.) she subconsciously (?) develops an unnatural ‘fake-love’ and constant desire to please her man, Jon.  
> According to my quick research this is a realistic outcome of her experience.  
>   
> Many will surely hate Jon (and Asha) for abusing her trauma in this and possibly future chapters but this is my opinion completely logical.  
>   
> Most people in Westeros would likely not even recognize Jeyne’s trauma as a (big) issue. Her new devotion to Jon is actually a desired trait in a wife in Westeros, and by a not insignificant part of the population today in our world as well.  
>   
> This is a medieval-like period too. The people don’t know how to treat people with sexual trauma like Jeyne. There are no psychological studies available about these kinds of things, and why would Jon or Asha ever learn about dealing with rape victims? I believe that many authors give their characters in these situations too much psychologically advanced reasoning which isn’t really set up beforehand.  
>   
> I am willing to argue around in the comments, but if you can’t deal with these darker topics you don’t have to force yourself to read this story. Please remember that.  
>   
> Towards the rest of the chapter:  
>   
> I hope you like what I made to basically end the war. Many authors (INCLUDING GRRM!) seem to be unable to end big conflicts without mass-murder. I am confident in saying that over 90% of all military conflicts in the middle ages did not end up being wars where the end goal was the annihilation of the opposition’s leadership. Formal peace treaties are in my opinion generally underrated and underused in storytelling. The negotiations should generally be rather dry and long, which is also why I didn’t go into them much, and just showed the important and interesting results.  
>   
> Both the Three Sisters and the Vale declaring independence is a realistic aftereffect of everything that happened, especially Edmure’s coronation. The Three Sisters are basically the eastern coast version of the Iron Islands.  
> Considering the massive size of Westeros, it is honestly a true miracle that the Targaryens were able to hold the realm together so long after losing their dragons through so many massive conflicts.  
> The fact that the Starks, Arryns, Lannisters, Martells and Baratheons (through Durrandon line) all once were sovereign royal Houses should have made much bigger problems than depicted in canon in my opinion.
> 
> ‘The Peace in the West’ is supposed to be a period-appropriate predecessor of a true constitution. It's a mix of a pure peace treaty and an appointment collection for lands, titles, different forms of succession and the respecive duties of newly made stations.  
> I would really like to hear your thoughts about it.


	37. The Kingslayer's Hunch (Jaime I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets Serra.

“I can’t fucking believe that we are in this position now,” Tyrion ranted. “I wonder what our dear Father is thinking and planning right now. Legacy this, legacy that. ‘A Lannister always repay their debts.’ Now we are all fucked in the ass!”

“Hmm.” Jaime didn’t really want to discuss this topic.

They were currently sitting in one of the smaller mansions of Lannisport which the two of them were currently inhabiting. His brother sat on the desk with a half-emptied wine flask besides him while Jaime leaned against the wall with direct sight on the only door to the room.

_Everyone is still alive, no?_

“Don’t come at me like that! You and Cersei have served Westeros Renly and the Tyrells on a silver platter! Can’t you control your cock?!”

_Look who’s talking…_

Jaime decided to steer the discussion away from his own faults, not that he was really remorseful. “Doesn’t look so bad for you though, brother? I am still surprised King Snow gave you actually Lannisport.”

Tyrion smirked. “It’s King Jon now for me. What an idiotic idealist… I still can’t believe that the Ironborn captains actually voted him to be their King! Apparently, their priest think he is their Drowned God’s chosen one, or some crap like that.”

Religion was never something Jaime understood. _Why would the Gods create such a cruel world?_ His head always began to hurt when he started thinking about these topics.

“He looks exactly like his father,” he questioned. “Do you think he will honour our agreement?”

His brother nodded. “Aye, I am sure of it. He seems rather non-confrontational. He punished a disloyal Lord by stealing his ship in the night and giving it to the hurt Lord Estren as compensation instead of openly punishing him.”

Jaime remembered the amusing story. This was definitely good for the safety of Tyrion. It seemed unlikely that he would suddenly lose his head on a whim.

“The new Lady Lefford actually got away scot-free, despite being the last to surrender and swear allegiance,” Tyrion continued. “She only agreed to come to Lannisport after securing per raven that her family’s lands wouldn’t be touched. I think he should have just stormed the Tooth or sieged the castle until the food ran out.”

“Father would have done it like that as well.”

“No, he would have massacred the entire garrison and household to boot, and that’s one of the reasons why we lost the war like we did. Jon Stark is basically the opposite of Father. He saw the majority of the Lords of the Westerlands who were ruled for millennia by our House jumped ship the moment they realized that it would be much more comfortable to serve a foreign bastard than serving Father. Fear doesn’t inspire loyalty in the end, _who_ could have guessed?!”

“Will you be loyal?” Jaime asked slowly. He did not believe it from what he knew and heard about his brother.

“For now. The peace treaty was very impressively written, this Reader is possibly as smart as I am. Heard he was named Governor of the Iron Islands yesterday, and already departed. Doesn’t change though that everything will likely collapse the moment the King dies.”

Jaime wasn’t very politically minded, but he recognized it as its truth. “Ironborn, Westerlanders and wildlings… there are going to be lots of issues for him and you to deal with.”

“Don’t fucking forget the fucking giants!” his brother exclaimed instantly.

 _Ah, yes, how could I forget._ Tyrion just harped on about this Wun Wun in every second sentence. He was completely obsessed with the large race from Beyond-the-Wall.

It was an easy way to bring his brother on better thoughts though. “Aren’t some other giants arriving soon with mammoths, I think you said?”

“Yes, yes, yes. In the next week or so. I was able to convince His Grace to let them settle here, to integrate them into the Kingdom. They are helpful workers and I am already planning to build an oversized district for them in the east of the city.” Tyrion seemed truly ecstatic when talking about the future of Lannisport.

“Is there going to be a smaller one for imps as well?”

“Ha-ha-ha, very funny.”

After a few moments of silence Jaime spoke again. “We are going to depart at the end of the week. Any thoughts?”

“Freeing Sansa Stark is your primary goal which is not going to be easy. Father, sister and your mad eldest won’t let her go, just out of spite.”

“I will do my best.”

Tyrion replied with an almost frightening laugh. His mismatched eyes looked like they were staring directly into Jaime’s soul. “Let’s be honest, brother. You can’t deny our dear sister anything. Please remember that my live is depending on your success. I will send some good men with you regardless which will… discreetly force the issue if you aren’t able to do it.”

 _Kidnapping the Stark girl just to bring her back…_ Many things could go wrong with that.

Jaime was resolute that he would get King Snow’s half-sister back to Westeros. He did not wish to take the risk of causing his loved sibling’s death.

Suddenly her remembered something else. “What about Uncle Gerion?”

“Just give him Joy’s letter as promised,” Tyrion answered simply. “Everything else is up to Uncle.”

“You think he is going to come back for Joy?”

By now the word had spread that a Lannister bastard had helped the Ironborn to take Casterly Rock. Joy Hill’s name wasn’t mentioned though. People didn’t suspect such a sweet maiden.

“Aye, he loves his little girl. Uncle was furious when Father insisted that she had to remain here when he went to King’s Landing.”

“And afterwards?”

“I don’t know,” Tyrion conceded for once. “Father will be furious for sure when he hears of what she did. She was smiling the last time I saw her in the Rock with His Grace, so at least she is happy with the new situation. It’s by now accepted truth that he takes all of our blond young female cousins to bed. I am sure you can sympathize.”

“You actually think that’s true?” Jaime had not gotten the impression from the boy, and Aunt Genna hadn’t implied anything into this sort of direction.

“Well, I know he fucks his Greyjoy wife, the Westerling daughter and the Wildling Queen.”

“You mean this Val women who orders around the giant?” Jaime had seen Tyrion several times around the two.

“Yep, what a wench! I get envious every time I remember that this green boy gets to enjoy that cunt,” his sibling lamented. The wine seemed to make him quite emotional. The flask was empty by now. “She claims that he has ‘stolen her’, which is the wildlings’ archaic marriage ceremony. The man has to kidnap and take his chosen by force. Eddard Stark is probably turning around in his grave.”

“The King probably has a woman at his hand every moment… just wait until I finish the love quarters, he-he…”

Jaime decided that he had heard enough. “Anything else,” he asked dryly.

Tyrion jumped from the desk and roamed around the chamber. “Yes, the dead.”

_Not again…_

“Don’t tell me you believe this, brother. Snow hasn’t seen them himself either.”

“I talked to the cave dwellers that have decided to occupy the bowels of the Rock and the Wildling Queen, the new Magnar of Fair Isle and the new Lord of the Banefort as well,” Tyrion spoke seriously. “They all repeat the same tale, and the former King-beyond-the-Wall actually described them quite convincingly…”

Jaime couldn’t believe this was happening. He was a knight, and his job was to turn humans into dead. This was not what he had sworn himself for.

“I was thinking about tipping Jon Stark off about the wildfire under King’s Landing,” Tyrion mused out loud.

“What?! Are you completely mad as well now?”

He had told his brother about the Mad King’s true end in confidence. It was not Tyrion’s story to tell.

_It’s too dangerous._

Jaime had seen what wildfire did to men and also remembered several accidents with the substance, all of them fatal. Green flames vividly reappeared in his dreams since years, and only Cersei’s presence kept them at bay.

“Apparently wights burn quite excellently. Do you really want to risk the entire city because just a rat tips one of the containers over in a few decades? Then you killed Aerys for no reason in the end.”

Jaime didn’t want to have this conversation. “Why do _you_ care, brother?”

“Well, I obviously will ask for adequate compensation. The end of humanity seems quite dire. One of the loyal maids told me how Stark, Greyjoy and the Reader talked about the Stepstones. I could demand one of the greener islands. You, Cersei, Myrcella, and Tommen could live there in peace.”

“No,” Jaime resolutely declared his final decision without hesitation. He did not even consider Tyrion’s arguments.

“I don’t have to disclose my source of information, Jaime.”

“No,” he snapped, moving to the door. “I won’t allow it, and that’s my final answer!”

* * *

A day later Jaime escorted his best friend Addam up the Rock. The man who had given up his birthright, simply because of their rekindled childhood bond, could always rely on him. Addam wanted to speak with his cousin Darlessa who had already been named as the next Lady of Ashemark. The lands of House Marbrand had been cut by one third as punishment for Addam’s father’s deeds, but it was still one of the most principal noble seats in the Westerlands. Addam had told him that King Snow claimed that his father had broken an oath to fairly fight one-on-one against him for the occupation of the keep.

His best friend didn’t believe the tale, in contrast to Jaime himself. In the end words were worth nothing, just like the treaty he had signed. Lord Damon’s death saddened him nevertheless for the man had been almost a second – or possibly even a first – father to him because of his fostering at Ashemark decades ago. Jaime had seen enough death in his life to overcome the loss rather easily.

Darlessa was sitting together with many other noblewomen in the Lady’s Hall where the female highborn who occupied the Rock tended to spend their days with needlework. Jaime could identify Aunt Genna, Shiera Crakehall, and his cousin Lanna.

Then the massive direwolf, Ghost, which was resting next to a used chair drew his gaze in. How the Stark children were able to not get keep anybody from getting eaten had always intrigued him. He noticed the highly pregnant Jeyne Westerling sitting on the stool while stitching a white cloak.

_One of Jon’s mistresses._

It was by now known that she had been taken as Snow’s salt wife in exchange for the loyalty of House Westerling. The impoverished ancient family had been richly rewarded for their cooperation and ‘sacrifice’ at the end of the war. They had almost doubled their lands, receiving parts from the in the male line extinct Baneforts and the punished Marbrands

A small toddler sitting next to Jeyne Westerling’s feet, cuddling into the white fur while gurgling happily.

Considering her companions, the identity of the child was easy to deduce, even though Jaime had only seen her once bundled up in her mother’s arms during the great ceremony in Lannisport’s sept several days ago.

_Princess Serra Stark._

It seemed as if either the sound of Jaime’s metal boots or his shining golden armour that he almost always wore since the war had begun drew her attention because she swiftly turned from her oversized monster plushie towards him with an curious expression stretching her arms out and blabbering nonsense.

The moment he took the girl’s looks in, Jaime stocked still, in body and mind alike. The silver hair framing her alabaster face wakened years old memories, memories which were haunting him every time he entered the Great Hall.

_Aegon!_

He had guarded the young boy along with his mother and sister for months alone during Robert’s Rebellion. Princess Serra was his twin with the exception of her wide grey eyes, compared to Aegon’s purple ones.

He managed to close his gaping mouth quickly enough, leaning against the stone wall next to the big door and continued to muster the King’s only child, at least until the Westerling girl gave birth while Addam spoke with Darlessa.

With exception of the Stark eye colour nothing of Asha Greyjoy or Jon Snow was recognizable in her for him, although he had barely seen the two parents.

He knew enough about them both to conclude that the Valyrian features had to come from the bastard’s completely unknown mother. According to Robert it had been Lady Ashara Dayne, but the features clearly didn’t fit with her. Ser Arthur had been blond, but his hair had a light golden shimmer.

Serra’s sire had been born at the end of Robert’s Rebellion far in the south, Jaime remembered, and until then Lord Stark should have never been south of Harrenhall.

_She could have been a bastard herself by one of the mad King’s mistresses…_

The Mad King had taken many women to bed until the death of the babe Jaehaerys two years after his introduction to the Kingsguard. The Lord of the Seven Kingdom had unjustly blamed the loss on his last lover and killed her and her entire near kin. Afterwards he had been completely faithful to Queen Rhaella, although Jaime had often wished otherwise.

It was a fringe theory, but the timing fit and it was also the best he could come up with in the short time.

He vowed to watch King Snow a bit closer in the near future until they parted for the rest of their lives.

* * *

“Lyanna Stark.”

“Huh?”

His brother looked at him in with the usual placating face which both of Jaime’s siblings had earned from Father. They were back in Tyrion’s solar in Lannisport where Jaime had just explained his suspicions about Jon’s mother after seeing first his daughter and then observing the youth himself during several sparring sessions. They had built a rather friendly relationship already against all odds.

“One of the Mad King’s mistresses’ daughter?” Tyrion said. “Too convoluted. Lyanna Stark though… I honestly feel stupid for noticing it not before, but it seems like no one put the puzzle together.”

 _Rhaegar has a son_ , Jaime realized. _A hidden son who doesn’t know of his own parentage._

Jon believed his mother to be Ashara Dayne which Jaime was completely convinced was not true even though he hadn’t said it.

“Lyanna Stark died in the birthing bed then?”

Tyrion nodded with a wide grin. “Aye, Ned Stark is known to have found her in Dorne, protected by three of your fellow Kingsguards. They obviously were ordered to protect the pregnant new Queen, and possibly heir.”

“Elia was still alive, and Aegon too,” Jaime protested. “Rhaegar couldn’t just set them aside!”

The Crown Prince had always been rather affectionate to Rhaenys and Aegon. The marriage with Elia had not necessarily resulted in love, but they were cordial to each other at least.

“Oh, well, Aegon took two wives as well, and who knows if the boy is trueborn or not.”

_Rhaegar was not a man of lust._

“Maybe he planned to legitimise his child with Lyanna once he was King,” Tyrion proposed and emptied his wine goblet. “Though I don’t think it matters for us.”

“Matters for us?” Jaime asked surprised.

He had not really thought about the consequences of Jon’s true parentage until now. The Targaryen had been replaced by the Baratheons on the now missing Iron Throne.

“If you can see the Targaryen in the Princess then others are likely to do so as well, at least when she grows up.”

“Should we talk to the King then?”

Tyrion chuckled. “By the Gods, of course not! The boy is convinced that he is Eddard Stark’s son and he is proud of it. Without proof we will only lose our heads. He doesn’t trust us at all, for good reason.”

“What then?”

“Don’t think about it. I will look into the matter myself. If we can make people believe that he really is Rhaegar’s son then Renly and the Tyrells will likely panic. Most Targaryen loyalists are in the Crownlands and the Reach after all.”

Jaime didn’t understand what his brother was talking about. “I thought we wanted to have the Seven Kingdoms stay divided. If there is a second war one of the factions might reunite several kingdoms again.”

“Sure, that’s a possibility,” Tyrion replied slowly. “The point is that _we_ can decide if and when war breaks out. I could start using the household of the Rock to spread some rumours to begin with… Jeyne Westerling is soon due to give birth. Let’s see how her babe looks. Maybe we can even sell this information to the King himself, I am sure he wants to know his true parentage.”

_Rhaegar’s son…_

Jaime had promised to protect the Crown Prince’s family and failed. He regretted nothing more in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a hard time believing that anyone would see Rhaegar in Jon's face without any prior suspicion. I hope this feels a bit more realistic.


	38. Tyroshi Tumble (Jon XXVI)

_I should not lay on my back like this. These nails really hurt._

“Are you sure that you won’t come with me?” Jon asked for another time, just wanting to make sure.

“My answer won’t change. I have duties myself now, and I wish to support my people. Just yesterday the rest of the giants and all their arrived. The Imp was hopping around so wildly from joy, I was worried he would accidently get trampled on.”

“Alright, alright.”

Jon was sure that he wouldn’t get disappointed by his lover who had just ridden them both to completion. Jon had created explicitly the title ‘Voice of the Free Folk’ for Val to organize the lives of his new subjects from Beyond-the-Wall.

_I guess that I have to do the journey all alone._

“My wolf, let us marry.”

Jon turned his head to the blond woman on his chest who had broken the blissful silence in his bedroom. Asha had like all the times in the past disappeared before Val’s arrival. For some reason it had happened from more often in the most recent weeks, but Jon wasn’t one to complain.

“I want to be your salt wife too, like Jeyne,” she elaborated.

“That… surprises me. Didn’t you say that you already consider us wed after the customs of the Free Folk?”

Val pouted. “I know that you do not see us like that though. I talked with the Imp as well, and he explained to me the advantages of doing the ceremony.”

He just lifted his brow silently. Salt wives were in the end just official mistresses on the Iron Islands. Their relationship wasn’t really a hidden one, although they did not often meet each other during daytime because of their responsibilities.

“For our children,” Val added eventually.

“Are you with child?” he swiftly asked.

The spearwife shook her head. “Not as far I know, although I am not taking any moon tea. When the Gods will it, it shall happen.”

While initially disappointed, Jon was still excited. He wanted to have a big family after all. Asha, Val and Jeyne seemed all to be at least cordial with each other. None of his children would receive the treatment that he had gotten by Lady Catelyn, he would make sure of it.

“I can just legitimize our children as the King.”

“According to the Imp they would be better accepted if I am an official salt wife, do you disagree?”

“No, Tyrion speaks true. I am not a great supporter of the custom as hypocritical as it sounds. My biggest problem is that the vast majority of salt wives are unwilling, and many get treated badly by their men.”

Val kissed him on the lips. “I am willing, and I know you will treat me with respect.”

“Jeyne…”

“An accident, Asha asked me about my opinion after you told her. I am already with you anyway, so nothing will change between us.”

Jon didn’t think about it for long afterwards. “I will depart in one week, so we have to do it in the next few days. How about we do the official ceremony on the shore and a second in the Stonegarden?” he proposed.

“Aye, I would like that.”

* * *

The timing of their departure was unfortunate. Jeyne was due to give birth in less than two months, but Jon was forced by the date of the Great Council to leave before it happened, leaving behind Asha as Queen Regent until he came back.

The last sight of his new home, top of the Rock painted white, had almost made him a bit emotional.

All nobles and men-at-arms who had decided to search a better future in exile had left Lannisport on the promised convoy the day after the first snowfalls of the new season. They amounted to almost half of the number of Jaime’s host. Seven winter years on the Wall had been too harsh to demand in hindsight.

They had made supply stops in Crakehall, Blackcrown and Sunhouse, Jon getting much attention with Wun Wun and Ghost. They were also halted by Redwyne ships three times in the straits. Renly had wisely assured all participants of his council safe passage which got them through the patrols without much problems, however.

The long trip in Dornish waters had been a bit more anxious. He knew that the people of the most southern region of Westeros largely despised House Lannister which is why they never landed the entire group of forty longships and only sent singular ships to trade for food and water.

After passing Sunspear without slowing down and moving northwards, they had navigated through the Stepstones safely, thanks to the experienced Ironborn captains and their quantity.

Originally Jon had planned to split from the convoy to go to King’s Landing, but in the end, he thought it better to assure Sansa’s freedom himself.

Now, the great Bleeding Tower of Tyrosh was clearly visible on the horizon.

“Are you scared?” Jon asked the golden armoured man next to him.

The Kingslayer had for some reason decided to spend a lot of time with him in the last month. They had sparred often in the Rock’s courtyard and Jon was honest enough with himself to accept that the Lannister was still a better swordsman than him. Jon did feel that he was becoming getting stronger and stronger with Oathkeeper. He had initially needed quite some time to adjust to the slightly shorter and much lighter red Valyrian Steel sword.

“Nah. Standing guard all day in the Red Keep almost bored me to death. This might finally be a serious challenge.”

The remnants of Balon’s Iron Fleet landed slowly on the south-eastern shore of the island of Tyrosh, and not in the city proper. Jon had decided to mostly use the repaired longships for the voyage. They were supposed to conquer Torturer’s Deep under their Lord Captain Victarion Greyjoy afterwards. A few ships had already made for the large isle under the command of Dagmer Cleftjaw.

Jon had originally intended to strip Victarion of his title because he had disobeyed clear orders during the war with the Lannisters which was by now had poetically been coined ‘Renly’s Rebellion’. Asha had however changed his mind by arguing that her uncle had only good intentions. Now, he would be ‘promoted’ to the Lord of Torturer’s Deep where he was to build a stable outpost for further projects.

While the Island was the southernmost of the Stepstones it actually laid so central between Dorne and Essos that ships generally sailed far away in or out of the Narrow Sea. If they truly were able to conquer a few more isles they would likely move the regional capital to a more trade-relevant location.

The ships of the Iron Fleet were mostly the last of Balon’s oversized longships and a few smaller ones. They would be replaced by the new fleet of war galleys from the Iron Arsenal. The men who followed Victarion were generally die-hard men of the Old Ways, so raiding, looting and raping. Even if they failed to conquer and hold Torturer’s Deep Jon would not miss them much, as cold as it sounded. The Kingdom would likely be better off without them. His Queen in contrast had full confidence that her relative would succeed.

Tyrosh was a fortress city protected by high walls, located on the northernmost and easternmost of the Stepstones. Its inner walls were fused black dragonstone.

At the mouth of its massive harbour which only the _Iron Victory_ and the _Grief_ which was the longship that would bring Jon to King’s Landing, entered lied the main symbol of the Free City. The Bleeding Tower, named for its red navigational light, measured almost two hundred meters from water level to the top, higher than the Shadowtower at the Wall, but still much smaller than the Hightower of Oldtown which Jon had seen for the first time barely a month before.

Victarion was responsible for getting all the supplies he needed for the conquest there, while Jaime, Ser Addam, Wun Wun, Ghost and Jon tried to meet the Lannisters. Jon had taken only half a dozen of his royal guards with him because the massive direwolf and even bigger giant should deter all would-be attackers. His accented Old Tongue was by now good enough to hold a conversation fluently.

“Is this really necessary?” Jaime asked dryly from behind. “I feel like I am part of a mummer’s troupe.”

Both of his mythical companions were attracting attention, even a small panic had broken out when they walked through the fish marked.

Jon laughed while leading the march. He wore his gold-weirwood branch crown on his head and a white leather tunic, spotted with minimal blood-red decorations and a white cloak depicting his coat-of arms, which Jeyne had both made for him after Val had told him two months ago that his former clothes of red, black and white made him look ‘like an oversized woodpecker’.

“You should be well accustomed to this, no?” he replied. “Kingslayer and all that.”

“No, I always hated all these dumb gaping faces.”

“Well, this an opportunity to build myself an imposing reputation beyond just Westeros.”

While Jaime had until now avoided the mainland after leaving the Westerlands behind, Jon had shown off Ghost and Wun Wun in combination with himself and his banner at every location they made halt outside of Dorne and Oldtown where he had feared to incite the zealous septons and septas of the Starry Sept.

Jon wouldn’t take either Ghost or Wun Wun so far south again in the future, he had already decided. Both of them weren’t used to the heat and suffered unnecessarily.

Jon’s plan to earn the reputation of a good and honourable lord and king had in hindsight been doomed from the beginning because of his birth and association with the Ironborn. Bringing the Free Folk south had killed of the last chance to endear himself to the smallfolk outside of the North and the West for at least the next decade.

Their dramatic walk through the Free City to the mansion the Lannisters owned I the city since generations was just the rational conclusion that it was better to impose with creatures of legend than the mindless slaughter the Ironborn were generally known for. With the Westerlands under his heel, the vast majority of his subjects were now from the mainland, and he wanted to avoid appearing as a simple conqueror. Many giants that had arrived were thankfully enthusiastic builders under Tyrion and Val’s instructions, and Jon was willing to spend a lot of his newly acquired gold to make Lannisport greater than ever before.

After passing through several grand streets, that Jon did not even try to remember, with a massive crowd following they finally arrived at their destination: a medium-sized mansion of white marble with Lannister banners on the roof and walls.

The handful redcloaks guarding the gate quickly made space the moment they got out of their stupor and recognized the golden-haired swordsman in their entourage.

“Ser Jaime! It’s truly you! Quick, fools, open the gate for Ser Jaime and… ehhh… his friends?!”

The courtyard was honestly nothing special and almost empty. One of the redcloaks went inside the big house to bring news of their arrival.

“Aye, let’s just enjoy these last minutes of peace today,” Jaime told him with a smirk. “Have I told you how beautiful my niece is? She comes after her mother.”

“Not only her mother, I would say,” Jon replied, barely supressing a smile. “I have seen Myrcella in Winterfell just two years ago though. You will surely have to fight of her suitors in the coming years.”

“Only two years… from a Northern bastard to the new King of the Rock. It’s impressive enough to be able to charm even the prettiest princesses in exile.”

Jon just rolled his eyes. Jaime had suggested to take his bastard daughter back to the Rock and make her his third salt wife several times already since they had lost sight of Lannisport. He already missed his three women.

_I wonder if Jeyne already gave birth…_

Asha had promised that she would send a letter to King’s Landing as soon as his child was born before he had taken her roughly on the night before his departure. He hoped his seed had quickened in her, a second child would surely do her good. Asha had never openly stated that she wanted another one but considering that she had been willing every night she had spent in his bed suggested it.

“I am sorry, but you know why I can’t take her with me. Her claim on the Rock is stronger than my own or my children’s will ever be.”

“Tyrion has an even better claim,” the Kingslayer argued. “You let him stay.”

“Tyrion isn’t a beautiful princess, but a dwarf. I currently plan to give him to a fierce spearwife.”

“Do that.”

Ghost pushed against their bond, getting Jon’s attention. The direwolf had been doing it for first time just shortly after the Peace in the West had been signed.

Jon turned around and saw three people dressed in classic Lannister red, all blond with green eyes, leave the house. It was a woman, a smaller version of her and a young boy.

“Jaime!” the older woman shrieked and rushed forwards to hug the called-out man. Jon recognized her as the Queen Cersei.

 _Former Queen_ , he reminded himself, not that he would ever say it out loud here.

Considering her drastic fall in station, the women looked good enough. Personally, he had expected something far worse.

“Oh, Jaime, I feared the worst when I hear that this savage bastard took our home!” Cersei prattled on and on. Jon tried to shut he out and looked at the rest of the present family.

“Look Myrcella!” the young boy, Tommen he was sure, exclaimed and pointed at the present giant who was curiously inspecting an orange tree. The older girl next to her still made wide eyes at the sight of Ghost.

“His name his Wun Wun, my Prince,” Jon spoke up. “The giants from Beyond-the-Wall do not speak the Common Tongue, but I can assure you that he means no harm. He’s vegetarian and has likely had never seen orange fruits before. Maybe you can give him a few to test them…”

“Woah,” Tommen yelled excitedly and rushed away without much thought. His sister followed with a noticeable frown and her dress raised from the ground after another quick glance at Jon and Ghost.

“Jaime! What are these monsters doing here! My children…”

After her brother had assured her that there was no danger for Myrcella and Tommen an older redcloak came out of the mansion.

“Lord Tywin wishes to his son and the new arrivals,” the guard proclaimed.

Jon turned around. “Wun Wun, just stay here and continued to enjoy the garden,” he said in the Old Tongue, receiving an approving grin in return. The giant liked pretty plants. “Dagon, you can come with me, everyone else remains outside as well and makes sure nothing happens to our big friend here.”

* * *

Tywin Lannister was a tall, slender, broad-shouldered man in his fifties. His arms were thin but muscled. His head was shaved, but he grew out bushy golden side-whiskers. His pale green eyes were flecked with gold and underlined with dark eye rings.

“So, you are the bastard that stole my lands and home,” he coldly proclaimed when Jon had taken a seat on the large dining table.

The former Lord of Casterly Rock was flanked by two slightly younger men with the classic Lannister features, possibly Tywin’s brothers, all sitting on the other side. They were the only ones in the vast white chamber with the exception of four Lannister guards and Dagon in the background.

“Aye, the new King in the West, Jon Stark,” he announced himself without any fanfare. “I brought your oldest son, and other family members, plus over two thousand men. In return I want my sister Sansa, as I agreed upon with both of your sons.”

Silence reigned after his words for a few moments, although Jon picked up Lord Tywin gritting his teeth.

He pulled out a few yellowed papers from a pocket on his belt. After smoothing them out, Jon pushed them over the table. Maybe the former ruler of the Westerlands wanted to comment on the agreement which two of his sons had signed for his House.

“Your sister has already been notified of your arrival,” the man spoke after looking through the papers. “I have heard that you gave Tyrion the Castellanship of Lannisport which you have already half destroyed. It’s the only reason you shall leave this place alive, I assure you. The Lannisters always repay their debts.”

Jon wasn’t quite sure if the last sentence was supposed to be a thanks or a threat, probably both.

“I heard that the Iron Throne disappeared mysteriously before Renly could take the city peacefully,” he mentioned off-handily, not sure how to keep the conversation going.

The man to Lord Tywin’s left coughed loudly, failing to hide his laugh. He received a stern glare from both of his relatives on the table.

A mental nudge from Ghost steered his attention to the door of the hall where soon after a young woman in a red gown decorated with orange flame tongues appeared, her red hair unmistakable.

“Jon! You are really here!” she exclaimed and rushed to him with a laugh.

“Sansa!”

They hugged for a moment before both sat down next to each other on the table with wide smiles. They had never been very close, but they were still family.

Lord Tywin knocked on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“I am sorry, but we can let your sister go with you,” he said seriously. “She is now my grandson Joffrey’s Queen, willingly wedded and bedded.”

_No! This can’t be true._

A quick glance to the side showed him that Sansa was blushing, however.

“I am sorry, Jon, but I am destined to carry Joffrey’s child,” she spoke with a slight smile and stroked her belly. “My son is going to be King.”

“King of what?” Jon asked, completely confused. “The Seven Kingdoms have broken apart, and Renly now reigns in King’s Landing.”

“Lady Melisandre says that my son will be King, he is Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised.”

_Huh?!_

“What kind of jest is this?!” he exclaimed shocked and turned quickly to Lord Tywin.

The grand-grandfather-to-be didn’t seem to happy either. “Ignore your sister’s words,” he spoke with a grim look. “She has decided to foolishly believe in a Red Priestess who my grandson is taken with.”

Jon had once seen a Red Temple in Braavos a few years ago. It was a place for the believers of a fire god who was very popular in Essos. It seemed like his dreamy second-oldest sibling, once so devoted to the Seven, had been converted to the Faith of the ‘Lord of Light’.

“Your husband killed our father!” he protested.

“Joffrey made a mistake, a grave one, but he regrets it deeply. He is not cruel to me and treats me with respect. Father wouldn’t have died if he had not tried to take the crown.”

Jon wasn’t sure what to feel about Sansa’s surprising change in character. She seemed to actually believe what she told him.

_This is madness._

“So… you rather stay here in exile?” he questioned slowly at last.

Sansa smiled and nodded. “We will sail to Asshai in the far east where my son will be born in the Shadow to bring the world new light.”

The answer was enough for Jon. He had come to free his sister, but she seemed to have somehow made her golden cage her home.

“Alright,” Jon just said and tried to move on. “Who of you is Ser Gerion Lannister? I have a message from his daughter Joy.”

The younger man besides Lord Tywin smiled widely and stretched out his hand eagerly.

“Is my little girl alright?”

Jon nodded and passed him the letter. “Aye, she desperately wishes to see you again. I let her stay in the Rock as my aide.”

“Thank you, Your Grace!” Ser Gerion immediately stood up and left the hall quickly with the letter tightly grasped in his hand.

Jon stood up as well. There was nothing holding him here anymore. If the Lannisters wanted to try their luck on the other side of the world with some red god, he would not even consider intruding.

“Jon, are you sure that you wish to go already? Joffrey and Lady Melisandre are still in the temple. Do you not wish to meet them? It would surely do you much good.”

“I have no time to spare,” Jon lied to his sister who he would possibly never see again. “I need to reach King’s Landing as soon as possible to make sure we have peace in Westeros. Goodbye”

He hugged Sansa shortly and left the hall without another word, completely ignoring the Lannisters present. Jon just wanted to get out of this mansion as soon as possible, Dagon following him without comment.

“Wait up,” Jaime called from behind when Jon had already reached the courtyard and made his way to Wun Wun who was surrounded by the laughing Tommen and the tense but smiling Myrcella.

“Speak then. I want to get out of this crazy place,” Jon snapped. “Wun Wun, we are leaving!”

“I don’t know what you talked about, but I want to give you something possibly helpful.”

The uncharacteristically unsure Jaime put something into his fingers. It was the map of a city with a few locations named. It was immediately obvious that it was a roughly drawn plan of King’s Landing. Seemingly random red Xs spotted the paper.

“What does this show?” Jon asked curiously.

“The Mad King moved a large amount of wildfire into the tunnels under the red marks,” the Lannister explained. “I don’t remember all of the places, but this should cover all the bigger ones at least. Tyrion believes they can help you at the Wall, against the dead and all.”

Jon had many questions after Jaime’s short revelation, but the man had already taken Tommen by the hand and entered the mansion again with his daughter following them, as if the gift wasn’t of much importance.

Jon and his group left the site without much comment and marched back to the harbour.

* * *

The _Iron Victory_ and the _Grief_ had not been allowed to leave Tyrosh for another five days. A few of the Free City’s wealthiest magisters had heard of both Wun Wun and Ghost and wanted to see the larger animals themselves. The Archon of Tyrosh himself had invited Jon as the guest of honour to a banquet, so he was unable to decline the offer.

The feast happened in the Great Hall of the Bleeding Tower which the Archon inhabited. Victarion, Rodrik Sparr, also called the Vole, who was the captain of the _Grief_ and many other of their crew attended the event as well. Never before had Jon seen so much lavishness in one place with exception of Casterly Rock.

The Archon – for some reason no one used his real name, so Jon never found it out – was, unlike most of the magisters, not massively overweight. He had a stern face, though he smiled easily when he greeted Jon in person. His beard was coloured bright green.

On the Archon’s prompting Jon had to narrate his short reign as first Lord of the Iron Island, and later King of the Isles and then in the West to the mostly attentive crowd.

Much wine flowed and the most exotic dishes were served. Jon often didn’t even know what he was putting into his mouth. Cheers and applause were given when Wun Wun who had barely fit through the massive gates swallowed an entire barrel of Dornish Red in seconds.

Many news and rumours were shared. The last Targaryen had declared herself the new Valyrian Empress and conquered Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen with her three dragons. After taking control of the east of Slaver’s Bay she was now rumoured to gear up her freed slave armies and to look at Tolos and Elyria to the west and later the Gulf of Grief, Lhazar and Ghiscar.

“That’s a very beautiful wolf, Your Grace.”

Jon was wakened from his stupor by a sedative voice to his right and looked up from his half-emptied goblet.

The slender woman who had seated herself next to him was approximately at the age of Asha, with straight black hair which flowed freely down her back. She had large and enticing dark eyes, and her red lips were full and formed an elegant smile. Combined with her high cheekbones she seemed to be of noble descent.

The beautiful woman wore a violet gown, made from silk, which was so sheer it revealed the jewels underneath.

After managing to stop staring at the olive-skinned women next to him, Jon glanced to Ghost on the other side of the hall. He had been a bit wary about the Tyroshi’s intention who were known slavers and ordered the direwolf and two of his guards to stay with Wun Wun. Together they were unlikely to be the target of assaults. Currently his canine friend was nibbling on a big steak. Ghost’s food consumption was enormous with his fully grown size. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was eating.

A soft touch to his shoulder ripped Jon away from his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, his name his Ghost, my direwolf.” He quickly gulped down the rest of his wine.

“I am Aliandra,” the woman next to him introduced herself and refilled the goblet with a flagon of Dornish Red.

“A pretty name, fitting for a beautiful lady.”

She just continued to smile. Jon felt the rest of his blood rush south. He did not have a woman since Asha on the night before his departure.

“I heard tales about the White Wolf who seized the golden Rock and commands giants which is why decided to come here tonight,” she spoke slowly. “It seems all to be true. They also say that he took every Lannister woman and dozens of lesser noble daughters of the Westerlands as his saltwives by force…”

“Not true,” Jon quickly protested. “Well some of it, but I left the Lannisters largely alone.”

“Hmm.”

_Was she always so close?_

Suddenly he noticed that the woman’s left hand was resting on his thigh. Aliandra began then to lightly stroke him there. Jon drank a bit of his wine, even though Dornish Red was far from his favourite.

“Tell me more about Ghost. He seems like a truly gracious animal, fitting for a King.”

Jon enthusiastically complied and started by explaining how Robb and he had found Ghost and his litter mates. Most people just saw direwolves as dangerous predators, but Ghost was more than that. He was a part of Jon, literally.

Aliandra was an attentive listener, asking many questions about the direwolves, and later the giants, the Free Folk, the Ironborn and in the end the war in the Westerlands. She also described her home city Volantis to Jon in return. Nothing of what he told her was a secret, he purposely left out the more magical parts and how Joy Hill had helped them to capture the Rock. It felt relieving to discuss his actions with someone else, both the good and the bad parts.

“Are you not scared of House Lannisters? To just let them go into exile peacefully?”

“Well, apparently they want to journey to Asshai because of some prophecy,” Jon babbled. He had drunk more than enough alcohol by now. “They will probably need years to reach the shores of Westeros again, if they ever do. I do not wish to fight against my own sister anyway…”

Aliandra still smiled nicely. Jon wondered if the noblewoman could even make another expression. She had placed herself sideways on his lap and Jon hadn’t brought up the energy to fight her advances off.

“I heard that the King in the West is half-wolf, even in bed,” she whispered while leaning against his chest.

Jon knew in the back of his mind that he wasn’t all there right now, but he remembered Asha saying that if he wished so, he could fuck any woman he wanted as long as he didn’t bring her back and would not cause a scandal.

“I don’t want to risk the siring of children who I can’t raise myself.”

That was Jon’s hard line and no matter how drunk he was, he wouldn’t cross it. From the different marriage customs of the Free Folk, the Northmen, the Ironborn and the followers of the Faith, he had concluded that the performance of an official bonding ceremony made no difference for a child of the union.

As the King he would legitimise all of his children without hesitation and love them all equally. But he desperately wished that they would know him intimately. Just because he stopped asking for the identity of his mother didn’t mean that he wished for his own sons and daughters to experience the same.

The Volantene just chuckled and rubbed herself against him, particularly his hard cock.

“I am not ready for children yet… and there are ways for men and women to both receive pleasure without the possibility of children.”

Jon initially didn’t understand where she was going until she pushed her ass directly onto his shaft.

_Ohhh._

Neither him, Asha or Val had ever talked about doing it like Aliandra proposed, although Jon had picked up that many men-at-arms seemed to enjoy the act.

He mustered the darker skinned young woman. Her big wide eyes were basically begging him to take her. When she licked her glossy lips with her tongue, the decision was made.

“Lead the way.”

The feast was in its last stages and the majority of guest had left the hall. Wun Wun was snoring while leaning against one of the walls, a sleepy Ghost beside him. Aliandra hugged Jon’s arm and steered him outside. The way to her apparent abode which Jon recognized as a brothel by all the moans coming through the stone.

“My father is friends with the owner”

Jon followed Aliandra’s swaying hips up the stairs and along a floor until they entered an empty room, with a big bed in the centre.

Jon didn’t want to wait much longer, so he quickly got out of his clothes without a comment and watched the Volantene slowly doing the same. A few of her clothes landed on the ground with metallic clinks, but Jon was too far gone to care.

Aliandra then kneeled bare on a satin red pillow she had placed on the colourful carpet before the bed.

“Let me serve you with my mouth at first, Your Grace,” she proposed with a slight smile and a sensual tone.

Jon couldn’t even think about denying her. His cock touched her lips only moments later.

Aliandra never broke eye contact with Jon after she kissed his tip for the first time. Her kisses and tongue licks were incomparable to anything Jeyne and Asha managed. He soon was so desperate that he grabbed the Volantene’s head started thrusting into her warm mouth while she happily hummed.

He finished on Aliandra’s silent insistence against her slightly opened lips, partly filling her mouth and partly coating the outsides of her pouted mouth which she cleaned with her fingers.

After quickly licking his seed from her tips and swallowing it noticeably down the woman stood up with a smile and went on her arms and knees on the bed while facing away from him.

“Your Grace, please start gently.”

Jon nodded and went into position, grabbing her hips before pressing the top of his cock against the lighter coloured hole. He pushed into her slowly, with rhythmic thrusts. Never before had entered something so tight. Jon was a bit reluctant because he was unsure how hard he could go. All the wine he had dunk also seemingly dimmed his lust and more primal urges in comparison to his normal state.

Aliandra moaned every time he moved in and out of her and started to push back herself. After Jon had his entire shaft inside her he stopped, so she could adjust a bit and take a breath.

His lover for the night turned her head around after a short time span and smiled challengingly at him. “Now I want to see what a wolf can do. Fuck me until I collapse, I dare you.”

Aliandra’s words and smirk made Jon’s blood boil. He was accustomed to being in charge in these situations and he loved it. He completely pulled out just to slam himself back insider her hole again, prompting a loud yell, half pleasure, half discomfort.

It was almost like music to his ears. Jon loved it when he got a reaction from his wives. Jeyne tended to praise him and moan loudly, Val tried to scratch him while mostly gritting her teeth, and Asha just cried and sobbed into his shoulder or a pillow. None ever complained about his forcefulness though, so those just seemed to be their natural reactions. He was just too curious what Aliandra would do.

“You…ahhh… fucking bastard… ahhh… I don’t feel anything!”

Apparently, she really liked to curse and insult her lover in High Valyrian. Jon only understood half of what she yelped and mumbled, but also didn’t really care. Aliandra had asked him to fuck her until she fell unconscious and his male pride demanded to achieve her wish.

After he had come insider her ass for a second time, she stopped talking and only quietly gasped, not being able to stay in position anymore. Jon just grabbed her hips tighter and did all the work himself. His drunken haziness had largely ended through all the action, so he was actually able to fuck her harder the longer their tryst went on.

He didn’t remember how and why it happened but at some point, he had switched to thrusting into the Volantene’s cunt, just because _it felt right_ , and finished there to end the long night.

Afterwards Jon collapsed satisfied next to the quietly breathing Aliandra who had stopped reacting to him quite a while ago. The sun was already peeking through the window, and quickly entered the realm of dreams.

* * *

Jon was reluctant to let go of the warm body in his arms the next day. A quick skinchange had shown him that Ghost and Wun Wun were alright too and still resting in the banquet hall of the Bleeding Tower.

“Will I see you again, my Lady?” he asked with his buried in his lover’s dark hair.

“Hmm, aren’t you going to Casterly Rock after your business in King’s Landing?” Aliandra spoke quietly while caressing the hands which embraced her around her waist.

_News of Victarion’s landfall will slowly begin streaming out. It might take some more weeks until it reaches the men in charge, but what’s the point of total secrecy._

“My men are supposed to secure Torturer’s Deep for me to the south,” he revealed.

“Where’s that? I don’t know much about the lands west of Mother Rhoyne.”

“It’s one of the biggest Stepstones, located to the south. It’s only occupied by pirates currently, so I don’t expect much push back.”

Aliandra shifted around in his arms, groaning quietly. Her wide eyes were not even handspan away from Jon’s. He felt like he could drown in these dark orbs.

“And… do you plan to take even more for yourself, conqueror?” she teased with a grin.

“Hm, I want to take control as much as of the Stepstones as possible. I am a bit worried about Lys and Tyrosh’s reaction, although I am far from a war monger. I feel peace and stability in this region could help all present factions.”

“That sounds very dangerous, my King,” Aliandra spoke while stroking his biceps which had grown noticeably since his first arrival at the Iron Islands. “I received formal weapon training since I was a child but was never forced to fight seriously. And I hope I never have to, of course.”

“Battle will be inevitable for me and my men. If I want to trade beyond the Sunset Sea the Stepstones have to be at least partly pacified. An outpost is only the beginning, pirates are supposed to be everywhere.”

“Tell me more about your plans then, Your Grace, for I am terribly curious.” The Volantene licked her wine-red lips suggestively. “If I like what I hear, I am might reward you with what we started…”

* * *

_The Stepstones in the year 300 AC:_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Sansa is exactly the girl that would be easily converted to the red faith by Melisandre. Maybe I have misread her character, but she has never given me the impression that she was very intelligent in contrast to most JonSa writers apparently. Coupled that with the stress of being a hostage, he already cracking delusional believes…
> 
> Some redditors have criticised that Jon too emotionless and pragmatic. This more based on my writing style than intention, and the reason for that is mostly my Asperberger. I think its easily acceptable that Jon has a light version of autism as well as a consequence in this fic.  
> Originally, I considered to put it into the tags, but I can already imagine the outrage. LMAO


	39. The Queen in the Rock (Asha VII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne gives birth and Asha has to deal with the consequences

_Your Grace,_

_I am writing this letter to inform you that my employer, the honourable Magister Illyrio Mopatis wants to alter our existing deal. Considering the new situation and independence of the Kingdom, he feels it to be prudent to renegotiate our cooperation._

_It would be appreciated if you could visit him in Pentos after you have finished your stay in King’s Landing. He actually considers coming to witness the signing of the treaty himself._

_The plans for the Lady Arya have been created according to your wishes and are currently in the honourable Magister’s possession as well._

_Shall your lands and family prosper,_

_Your honoured servant,_

_Nevio Masarys_

Asha set the letter aside, so she could send it to King’s Landing per raven. This didn’t really concern her. Jon had handled everything with the Pentoshi until now.

She focused on the next one before ripping the paper apart. Lord Serrett actually dared to propose a match between his second son and her Serra. No answer would be given, just like with the half a dozen inquiries before about the possibilities of similar arrangments from various Westermen.

The next message came from Lord Gawen Westerling who was concerned over the Free Folk that had settled in and around the Banefort to the north of his lands. After a bit of thinking Asha penned an answer in which she proposed a marriage between Jeyne’s younger sister Eleyna and Tormund’s heir Toregg who was at least a decade older than him.

_I wonder if he will reply…_

Fortunately the newly appointed Ironborn Lords had not made significant problems. The young Lord Volmark had been given a bit of land at the northern shore east of the Banefort while the port city Keyce was now ruled by Lord Dunstan Drumm's second son Donnel. The seat of Feastfires had originally been intended for Victarion until Jon had sent him away to take Torturer's Deep with the Iron Fleet.

Asha's cousin Harras had been named as the Lord Captain of the City Watch, so the control of the biggest and most important settlement could be guaranteed. He considered marrying one of his maternal relatives in the form of Lord Serrett oldest daughter who was currently destined to become the next Lady of Silverhill. If the match happened Uncle Rodrik had to possibly rethink his heir for the Lordship of Harlaw.

The next in line according to common sucession was technically her brother Theon who was supposed to wander around in Essos. Asha really hoped to see him again soon.

* * *

“Believe me, I did not scream so loudly with Serra.”

Asha was currently waiting outside of the birthing room, together with Val and the Imp. She was honestly confused why the latter decided to even attend. Serra was in her arm, so the small girl could meet her new half-sibling. Jeyne continue to shriek and cry, as she had done since hours.

“No Gho!” Serra exclaimed.

“No, Ghost isn’t here,” Asha replied sweetly while swaying her daughter lightly.

“Hmm, I wonder how my own birth would go. I feel like seeing the girl’s belly swell woke my own motherly urges,” Val spoke with a slight smile next her. “I have been a bit dizzy lately.”

“Well, then you should let yourself get checked by Maester Creylen later this week,” Asha advised calmly. She had shown no symptoms of a pregnancy until now herself.

Her current opinion of the Free Folk woman was a bit uncertain. After doing a sudden turnaround and asking Jon to take her as an official wife too, Val had begun to officially call herself Lady Val Stark of the True North as some sort of jest. She completely flaunted all Ironborn or Westerosi customs that she declared ‘foolish’, not that Asha in a position to complain, though she had worn dresses on more days in the last six months than in her entire life before combined.

 _Maybe that’s the problem_ , she mused. _We are too similar._

Finally, a babe’s whine was heard. Serra immediately decided to cry as well, forcing Asha to try her best to calm her girl down for the next few minutes. Val and Tyrion had already gone inside. Jeyne was still making noise.

The moment she opened the door Jeyne yelled again. The centre of the room was surrounded by several men and women, particularly Jeyne’s mother, younger sister, and Maester Creylen who was supposed to be very experienced with the delivering of children.

“Just one more push,” the Maester said. “Ah, yes! I can already see the entire head. One more push, my Lady! You need to breathe in! And out!”

The old man had been a big help to Asha and Jon since they had taken the Rock. He was very knowledgeable experienced, and seemingly not loyal to the Lannisters like probably a significant part of the household. She had already asked to arrange the relocation of several maids and servants from the Iron Islands to take leading positions in the staff.

A few moments later another babe’s cry was heard.

“Move aside!” Asha just pushed herself through the crowd with a smile at the clearly confused Serra on her arm.

“Your Grace, everything went alright,” Maester Creylen spoke with a smile and gestured to the occupied bed.

Jeyne Westerling was rather pale and looked completely exhausted with sweat on her forehead. She smiled however, while silently admiring the two bundles which she held against her chest.

“Twins, just as predicted,” the Maester added happily from the side. “One boy, and one girl.”

Asha was neither ecstatic nor mad. Not only had the Westerlander girl delivered two healthy children, but one was male as well.

Jon had promised her that Serra would inherit the Kingdom unless she wished to make a future son of them the heir.

_I have to bear a son, just to make sure no one entertains stupid ideas about the succession. Serra as the oldest will be the heir regardless._

“What are their names?” Asha asked Jeyne with a smile, burying her thoughts.

“Lyarra… and Edwyn,” the new mother whispered, sounding quite hoarse.

_Those are Northern names._

“Look, Serra, your new brother and sister are here,” Asha spoke softly and held her daughter next to Jeyne.

“No Gho!” Then Serra giggled and reached with her small arms for the woman on the bed. “Jeyney!”

_I want her to say my name like this too…_

“That’s a pretty colour,” Val commented from beside her, prompting Asha to look up from her own babe.

The infant to the left had opened his or her eyes, revealing two orbs of dark indigo.

_Ashara Dayne then._

In all other features the twins seemed to take after their young mother in constrast, particularly their brown hair colour.

* * *

Asha was sitting behind Jon’s working desk which she would temporarily occupy until her spouse was back from King’s Landing, whenever that was. The sooner Jon would come back the better. She was already sick of being stuck here. Ruling a massive and fragile realm was a lot less fun as most people thought.

All Lannister banners had been taken down in the room and the rest of the Rock, and a few had been replaced with the former banner of the short-lived House Torren. The white wolf howling to the moon on a rock surrounded by bloodred water still served onwards as the coat-of-arms of their branch of House Stark. Jon and Asha liked it too much to replace it with the rather boring direwolf of the Starks of Winterfell.

Asha hadn’t spent much thought on her new name though she stubbornly refused to call her and Jon part of a new cadet branch. They were a Royal House after all now, and not the impoverished knightly rulers over some wood tower which didn’t even appear on most maps.

“So, what do you wish to talk to me about, Lannister?”

The Imp in front of her grinned. “I want to make a new deal!”

“And about what exactly?” she questioned, having no idea where he wanted to go with the discussion.

“The identity of your husband’s mother.”

“Jon doesn’t know her, but he assumes it is Lady Ashara Dayne. Looking at both my daughter and the twins, it seems to be true.”

The Lannister’s irritating grin only got bigger. “I do not believe it to be Ashara Dayne, Your Grace, although I have to admit that I still lack proof.”

Both of his sentences were surprising for Asha and made her curious. The man had to be rather sure about his theory to approach his Queen without anything in hand.

“So, who is it?” she asked with as much dignity she could muster. She had secretly trained her royal face and voice in front of a mirror since she had arrived at the Rock.

“No, I first want a promise.”

She just gestured the half-man to continue talking.

“I don’t want Casterly Rock, though I considered demanding it. If what I say is true, I want Lannisport immediately you and the King are able to confirm or at least accept it as the truth. Additionally, I want to receive the Lordship over an island of the Stepstones of my choice, I know that your uncle is already trying to take Torturer’s Deep.”

_How does he know that?_

Asha quickly guessed that he had to have spies in the Rock or one of the sailors of the Iron Fleet hadn’t managed to keep his mouth shut. Both possibilities were probably true.

“I don’t know if we are able to take much of the Stepstones,” Asha spoke. “There are good reasons that no great power seems to be able to hold them for long.”

“If that’s the case I wish for adequate compensation, I am thinking about Castamere or Tarbeck Hall…”

“You ask for a lot, Lannister. Only Jon can make such a promise nevertheless, though I am sure he wants to know who his mother’s name.”

“I know that you have a huge sway on him. And I can confirm that your husband and subsequently your daughter receive a strong claim on wealthy lands according to my believe.”

_A strong claim?_

Many bastards could presume to have ‘a claim’ on their sires’ properties and titles, but those were rarely acknowledged. A strong one meant that the rest of the family of Jon’s House had been likely decimated during Robert’s Rebellion, or afterwards.

Asha didn’t really think very long. She was very curious about her mother-in-law now as well to be honest.

“Aye, I swear you will get what you wish for, Lannister, if your theory proves itself true and valuable. There you have it.”

Tyrion first grasped the wine canter on the desk and his filled his goblet slowly.

“Stop with the theatrics, and talk!” Asha ordered.

“Lyanna Stark.”

“What?” She could not understand.

“Your husband’s mother is Lyanna Stark. I guess she died from birthing fever. She died to a fever officially, just to give a bit more background information. I spent quite a few hours in the library here.”

“And the father?” She asked even if she silently had already guessed the answer.

 _Rhaegar Targaryen._ It was unbelievable.

“Obviously, the late Crown Prince. That’s also where the children’s Valyrian feature stem from.”

“Any other revelation for today? How did you even come up with this crap?”

Asha had a hard time taking the Imp's words seriously. She understood the implications well enough, according to this Jon had a direct claim on all of Westeros.

“My brother recognized Rhaegar’s and his children’s features first in your daughter and then in your husband himself. He spent a lot of time with them as a Kingsguard. I only put everything together.”

“Jon was claimed by Lord Eddard Stark though.”

“Lord Stark found his sister in Dorne and returned with a bastard son. He never revealed his mother, clearly not from shame as everyone assumed but from fear.” The Imp sounded absolutely convinced by his own words.

“There are many tales in the world,” Asha eventually replied. “I will write Jon that you have a theory about his mother without disclosing names. We shall talk again if he returns from King’s Landing. The promise stands for now.”

The Lannister only nodded, seemingly satisfied. He had apparently expected such a verdict.

After jumping inelegantly out of his chair he stopped and turned around. “My brother is not the only one who knows how the Targaryens looked,” he spoke. “There are more than enough pictures of them, and most older nobles have still seen them alive. If I can put this together after seeing the Crown Princess and her new half-siblings, other might too. Especially if they grow up and go after their grandfather. Your daughter certainly looks likely to do so in my opinion.”

Then he walked out, leaving Asha intrigued behind.

_My baby…_

After the half-man’s steps had died away, she hastily stood up and left the room for the colourful nursery.

There she met Jeyne with Serra, Edwyn and Lyarra alone. The noblewoman had been turned into the unofficial nursemaid for Asha’s daughter as well.

“Hello, Your Grace!” Jeyne greeted her with a smile while rocking one of her twins. Asha wasn’t able to differentiate the two yet. A large book which she identified as ‘The Seven-Pointed Star’ from the golden symbol on the cover, and needle and yarn laid next to her on a small round table.

Serra who was playing with a few coloured wooden blocks at Jeyne’s feet looked up to Asha with wide eyes.

Mustering her own child, she actually noticed how Serra had seemingly _nothing_ inherited from her, or Mother – Asha could only remember Father’s features hazily. And disregarding the grey eye colour that Jon had called a typical Stark trait, her baby also didn’t show any resemblance to Jon.

_Maybe she looks more like us if she gets older…_

But Tyrion’s ominous warning before he left just went through her head again and again.

 _Maybe we could ask House Dayne if Ashara really birthed Jon,_ she considered. _If not, we could try paying them to keep their mouth shut and proclaim it as the truth anyway to stop any rumours…_

Asha kneeled on the ground directly next to her. “Don’t you want to greet your mama with a hug, little Princess?”

“No!”

The girl didn’t even seem to consider the option, grabbing the farthest bricks from her and pulling them closer as if she feared that her mother was about to take the precious toys away.

_Her character comes from me at least!_

Mother had always told how wilful she was like a child herself.

“Jeyne!” Asha spoke up. “You do know how to lead a household, right?”

She herself had learned all the basics and had done half of the job at Pyke. Casterly Rock was a whole other beast however, and Asha did not feel adequate to run the giant fortress.

“Of course, sister. My mother thought me everything to know.”

Asha was a bit amazed that the salt wife apparently wasn’t still mad at Lady Sybell who had traded her own daughter away to be a mistress.

“Good, you shall from now on be in charge of the Rock itself, as if you were the Lady. Just ask Lady Genna for advice and help if you have issues.”

The only daughter of Lord Tytos Lannister had decided to stay in the Rock by now with her family but considered to move to either Lannisport or the Twins in the near future.

Jeyne clearly hesitated while looking at the babe in her arms, so Asha decided to feed her inner fire.

“Jon might be very impressed by your skills,” she mentioned teasingly. “He loves to fuck strong and capable woman...”

“I can do it! His Grace can trust on me.”

_That was disturbingly fast._

Moments later the door opened, and Val in one of her white dresses entered unannounced. Her appearance was quite a surprise. Without Jon the spearwife did not have much reason to enter the Rock.

“Hah! I went to the Grey Robe and he confirmed it, just as you said Jeyne.”

“I am so happy for you, sister,” the Westerling exclaimed sincerely. “Our children will all be _sooo_ close!”

 _How is this fucking possible?_ Asha seethed. _I received Jon’s seed a dozen times more than you…_

Despite her feelings she still managed to put up a friendly front. “That makes me happy for you. Motherhood has made my life much brighter.”

“Oh, mine as well,” Jeyne beamed and went back to cooing at the child she was rocking.

Val went over to the one still occupied crib and stared down at the twin silently while caressing her stomach absentmindedly. She was apparently imagining how her own babe could look like.

Asha decided she had to go back to her task as regent. With a quick move forward, she kissed Serra sloppily on the forehead which caused the girl to squeal before standing up and leaving the chamber.

A short walk later she seated herself on the Seastone Chair which Asha had ordered to be transported from Pyke in the newly furnished Glass Hall. The ancestral seat of the Ironborn Kings was much more impressive than the old golden lion-depicting throne of the Lannisters which still remained in the Golden Gallery. The Throne Hall was well enlightened during the day because it lacked one of its longer walls, opening the mostly natural cave to the seaside, a characteristic Asha preferred over many of the lightless rooms of her new home. The large gap in the rock was closed by a giant slightly golden glass front while the other side of the hall was supposed to get decorated with the coats-of-arms of all bigger noble Houses of the Iron Islands and the Westerlands, giving the place combined with the view on the Sunset Sea and the white marble ground a rather bright atmosphere.

_Definitely an improvement over Pyke…_

It would probably still need a few months until the Glass Hall could be used because not all of the necessary work was finished but that was one of the reasons why she had gotten Jeyne to take over the household. Asha could meanwhile concentrate herself on ruling while her husband was probably making the eight.

Asha mulled over the implications of Jon’s possible parentage. Her first instinct had been asked Jon himself for his decision before she made halt.

_When have I become so submissive?_

She had always been in charge of her life and also her marriage. The only reason she had allowed him to take other loves was because it would keep him at bay. Asha had always loathed a future in which she was reduced to nothing but a man’s bedwarmer, even if she had been actually that since Jon had returned from Pyke.

Asha had changed her approach with her husband from then on. She had done everything to comfort and support Jon. She had willingly let him take her a hard as he pleased because Jon seemed to have needed it, and Asha had never complained.

Their coupling had changed on Asha’s silent prompting to be mostly much gentler, but mostly out of comfort. She enjoyed their mutual caressing and loved to whisper sweet nothings in her spouse’s ears.

Part of it was maybe her own fault by for some reason wishing for a second child, after declaring that Serra would be the only one. It still hurt her a bit to think of losing one so early on. She never had experienced so much sadness and disappointment.

She had made a ‘deal’ with Val and Jeyne around three months ago according to which she would share Jon’s bed most nights. It was necessary to emphasize her position as Jon’s first woman in every way without causing strife between them, but she had also felt herself be forced to never deny him to take his pleasure when there were two alternatives available.

 _I am just like Jeyne_ , she concluded.

While she had tried to change Jon’s treatment of her softly, she had actually given herself up to be her husband’s bitch.

_The Queen in the West._

Even though only thanks to her status as Jon’s rock wife, it was time that the people, including her King, would see and treat her like it. She would not bend over and kneel for Jon like some wanton whore whenever he wished for it from now on.

Her husband needed to respect her as his wife and Queen, and not just a cunt which he would squeeze out the babes he so desperately wanted. Currently Jon seemed to consider her not as his equal, doing most of his work alone without her input.

A Queen wasn’t regularly fucked from behind to tears from both pleasure and pain. Her spouse had graciously decided to show her ‘his love’ by doing it on the night before his departure for Tyrosh and King’s Landing as well.

At least she had roughly found out when to call Val, and after Jon came back Jeyne too, so the salt wives could take care of his animalistic urges for the next few days.

The spearwife seemed to be into getting fucked by ‘her wolf’ as hard as possible and considering Jon’s bite and scratch marks after every time, the blond woman did not hold back either. The Westerling scion on the other hand had been somehow raped into total submission and differed not much from a favoured Essosi pleasure slave.

_Once Jon is back, I am going to look out for myself and do what I want._

After making her decision Asha went back to the issue of her spouse’s secret claims. She could deal with this herself.

It would be wrong to openly talk about Jon’s likely Valyrian ancestry before there was actual proof available, but it was also chance to strengthen their rule. She herself was a pure Ironborn and Jon was a bastard from the North. The Stark name was strong, especially in the North and the highest nobility, but the Targaryen dynasty had made a deeper imprint on Westeros than no other family. Their name, symbol and words symbolized power and the right to stand on the top of the ladder without comparisons, even after Robert’s Rebellion.

_We can’t proclaim that Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen openly, but we could just start the rumours ourselves._

The smallfolk were not completely on Jon and Asha’s side because they were seen - rightfully - as foreign conquerors though there hadn’t been many problems yet, mostly because of fear probably. Jon had currently a rather terrible reputation as a direwolf-riding, giant-commanding, mass-raping, uncivilized bastard from the North who sacrificed poor mother's babes to his bloodthirsty weirwood tree gods. If they believed their King to be a hidden prince straight from the tales, it would surely heighten their obedience.

_And if we have the smallfolk, their lords will follow, albeit grudgingly._

There might be problems with Renly who considered himself Robert’s and all the past Targaryen Kings’ successor, but he could hardly move against the Kingdom in the West openly once the supposed truth about his parentage was well known. That would only be a silent acknowledgement of Jon’s claim and make his royal title more legitimate.

* * *

When Asha _finally_ threw up her morning fast two weeks later her plan was already in motion.

She had written fake letters signed by Lord Eddard Stark in which Jon’s origin were ‘revealed’ to him just days before his death in King’s Landing as a very tearful farewell message.

Asha had swallowed her pride and read some romance novel from the library to make the story a bit more sob-wrenching and was rather happy with the end result. She was convinced that her husband would have done something similar in her stead.

According to the made-up tale the Crown Prince Rhaegar had rescued the weeping maiden Lyanna from being raped by her evil betrothed Robert Baratheon. The two of them fell tragically in love which resulted in Jon’s birth that killed Lyanna on the day of Rhaegar’s fall on the Trident.

The letter had laid prominently for all to read on the table in Jon’s solar for half a week and quite a few of the servants and maids were starting to treat her much more warmly. The guards for Serra and the other two children had been doubled on Asha’s orders for their safety. The yellowish paper had been burnt after Asha had decided that the information had been sufficiently spread for now.

Lady Lanna Lannister had even once brazenly asked her about the identity of Jon’s mother while passing her in a hallway. Asha had only responded that it was ‘a secret’ which would probably be the common reply from her to similar inquiries in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disregarding that gene inheritance in ASOIAF doesn't work like in irl, the probability of Jon's children to inherit Targaryen features is actuallly incredible high, and in my opinion often underrated, or solved by changing his parentage (which kills of a great part of what makes his character and possible fate so interesting).
> 
> Jon's father Rhaegar is the child of two full siblings who are the children of two full siblings themselves. Except for Jaehaerys II's wife all are confirmed to have purple eyes and pale hair, with Rhaegar's siblings having them too. I think it is therefore fair to assume that Jon has the necessary allels, even without necessarily expressing them himself.


	40. Treaty of the Six Crowns (Jon XXVII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives in King's Landing.

The _Grief_ arrived in the harbour of King’s Landing at the second last day of the seventh month. The journey from Tyrosh had been rather peaceful, only disturbed by a light snowfall prompting them to make a supply stop at Tarth, the beautiful Smaragd Island.

Jon knew that Robb and Edmure had already arrived weeks ago, so he asked the nearest, stupefied gold cloak to lead him, Wun Wun, Ghost and his guards there.

After causing the usual disturbance with their dramatic march they arrived in front of the Red Keep where all the important guests apparently stayed during the negotiations.

Officially Renly had asked for a Grand Council which allowed every noble lord in Westeros a say, but in practice almost everything would probably be decided by the five present monarchs.

After waiting for almost a quarter hour and many different heads appearing on top of the walls of Renly’s seat the gate finally opened itself for them.

Inside the courtyard was Robb and Edmure already awaiting him in front of a crowd. Next to them stood two other men of Edmure’s age in green and blue and a young, beautiful woman with chestnut hair and dressed in a long red gown with crowns on their head. Jon guessed the man in green as Renly Baratheon from his likeliness to the late King Robert. This made the beautiful woman next to him Queen Margaery and left the man in blue to be Harrold Arryn, King of Mountain and Vale.

After Jon managed to stop imagining the Rose of Highgarden without clothes, he recognized the frowning Lady Catelyn behind them when three blurs rushed at him. One was a girl in a grey dress that almost forced him to the ground with her tight embrace.

“Jon! You are finally here!”

“Arya!” He had missed his favourite sibling.

A quick glance revealed that Ghost was tumbling around in the dirt with two of his litter mates, Nymeria and Lady. The white direwolf was much bigger than the other two.

 _Female ones might stay smaller_ , Jon guessed.

“Jon, you have to rescue me. Mother wants to marry me off to a stinking Frey!”

He had heard of the arrangement from Robb when they were on the River Road. Jon honestly found it unacceptable that Lord Walder had been able to acquire two matches with House Stark, including the heir and now King, by blackmail.

“I will see what I can do,” he promised before Lady Catelyn came forward and dragged her away by the ear.

 _What an undignified entrance._ Jon was happy nevertheless about seeing his sister once again, especially after his meeting with the other one.

“So, this a giant!” Renly proclaimed jollily before bowing in Wun Wun’s direction. “I am honoured by making you acquaintance. The same goes for you too, King Jon, obviously! Ha-ha!”

The smiling Wun Wun waved back with his large, furry hand, a habit he had picked up somewhere after his departure from Westwatch.

“We are all pleased to be here, King Renly” Jon replied. “Shall the coming weeks ring in a new age greater than before.”

His exclamation received many cheers, though he noticed that the louder ones came from the nobles he recognized to come from those who weren’t loyal to Renly.

Robb came to him, together with Edmure and Harrold.

“We should take about what we already agreed on,” his older brother proposed and just nodded.

“Fellow Kings, I know just the place,” Harrold beamed and with a gesture to a few knights with the Arryn falcon on the breastplate led them out of the gate, all other three monarchs and a few of their guard following, including Wun Wun. The three direwolves remained behind to further reacquaint themselves.

The grand procession moved down from Aegon’s Hill on the main street called the ‘King’s Way’ until they reached the central square where they went left on to the ‘Street of the Sister’ up Visenya’s Hill.

_Are we going to the sept?_

A questioning look towards Robb resulted in a shrug.

Where is Sansa?” his brother asked. “You wanted to take her from the Lannisters in Tyrosh, I remember.”

Jon hesitated for a bit before answering. “I left her there. She seems happy to be married to Joffrey, I do not jest.”

“No!”

“Aye, she and her husband now follow the red god and wish to travel to Asshai because of some prophecy about their children. I could barely believe it myself when I spoke with her and basically run away from shock.”

Robb gritted his teeth. “You should have forced her to come with you. I would have!”

His brother received no answer for they had apparently arrived at their goal.

“Here we are!” Harrold exclaimed with a small laugh before a larger wooden which obviously was nothing more than _a brothel_. “This is where Kings once reigned.” Then he entered.

A large sign read ‘House of Kisses’ over the whorehouse’s door.

“Gaemon Palehair ruled from this house during the Month of the Three Kings,” Edmure explained next to him with a grin. “They called him the Cunny King. What a title! Let’s go in now!”

Jon only vaguely remembered Maester Luwin’s lessons about the topic but recognized the short period which had occurred during the Dance of Dragons.

“I am betrothed,” Robb argued but Jon just pushed him forwards.

“The damage is already done, brother. Just hope that Wun Wun will distract from your coming loss of your maidenhead.”

“I am not a maid!”

“Aye, that sounded quite different,” he mocked.

“Don’t you have a wife already? What will Asha think?” Robb countered while staring at an olive-skinned young woman, particularly her large bosom.

“She asked me to be discreet and not cause a scandal to shame her. It’s already too late for that now though...”

They moved up the stairs, following the Lord of Riverrun and the Eyrie.

“Harrold is an ass,” Robb spoke. “He just married Lady Myranda Royce and already drags us to such a place. I actually received a few proposals for my hand despite my coming marriage to a daughter of House Frey…”

“What about Arya?” Jon asked, because the topic came up. He sat down on a velvet couch which was already occupied by a blond whore that grinned at him.

“I gave my word. I can’t break it now.”

“I could just smuggle her away. Better than letting her run away which I consider a serious risk.”

Robb actually seemed to consider the answer before shaking his head unhappily. “I am currently not in a strong position in the North. I am a cripple now and Rickon is in good health, and you are a King. I can’t break a betrothal currently, and further dishonour myself.”

“My fellow Kings!” Harrold proclaimed before slapping the ass of the sparely clad brown-haired woman who had just filled his goblet with wine. “I think it is time for an official introduction.”

Those were quickly made before Jon was informed about the current political issues.

“I, or better we, can’t allow the Kingdom of the Bite to endure,” Harrold said to Jon, now with a more serious expression. It seemed he wasn’t a complete fool. “It not only makes me look weak, but also sets a precedent for all of our other Lords that fancy themselves with a crown in the mirror.”

“Aye,” Robb agreed. “That’s why we aren’t going to acknowledge Triston Sunderland’s claim beyond the signing the treaty. He is now an ally of Renly and the Tyrells, and therefore our opponent. We are going stop any trade with them and see who they manage to overcome the winter.”

It was a harsh, but Jon understood the issue.

“White Harbour will suffer,” he spoke with true concern, “and if the Sistermen lack food they decide to raid the shores of the North and the Vale.”

“They don’t have the men and ships to be a serious threat,” Harrold replied. “The Vale shall take all those islands back in spring. Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright, anything else?”

Robb frowned. “Aye, Renly is only willing to seriously negotiate if all noble Houses are allowed to swear allegiance to a crown of their own choosing.”

“Unacceptable!” Jon immediately responded, shocked. “I already received everyone’s oaths months ago. I rather leave.”

Harrold shook his head in disapproval. “We need the stability though. We can’t field our armies for years when food won’t be abundant anyway. The noble Houses of the North and the Vale are absolutely loyal. This mostly concerns the River- and Westerlands.”

_They already thought this trough._

“I can handle the Tyrells going for my lands, but are you really willing to give up part of your Kingdom to them,” Jon asked Edmure rather confused. He could not understand why he would willingly gift Renly land and men.

Edmure looked unhappy but also resigned. “It’s not the worst situation for me. The Riverlands lack natural defences and I lack the troops to patrol the entire border. I am also considering the deal to sort out the disloyal. We Tullys never wore a crown before, unlike the Starks, Greyjoys and Arryns. I am probably better off I concentrate myself on the Trident. I can use the stream to easily control the lands along it.”

“War is inevitable,” Robb warned. “The Tyrells are greedy and only got half the realm they wanted. The Reach has more than enough food for the winter and Renly will surely gear up all of his forces. I would like to avoid surprises in our backline on the battlefield. Unless something unexpected happens, we march to war next spring again.”

In the end they more or less agreed to give the Riverlords that weren’t seated by the Trident or one of its countless tributaries a choice between Renly and Edmure. Many would probably succumb to bribes, but those nobles would likely be more crux than crutch in a war with King’s Landing anyway. By breaking with their liege, they proved themselves as unreliable and potential traitors.

* * *

A letter from Asha was given to Jon on the next day by the new Grand Maester Gareth, the former mysteriously disappearing with the Lannisters’ flight.

_Jon,_

_Jeyne has delivered twins. All three are in good health. She named the girl Lyarra and the boy Edwyn. They go after their mother except for their purple eyes._

_I am with child again, and so is Val, so let’s see how these ones are going to look._

_This is the second topic I have to write you about, husband. Tyrion Lannister claims that Ashara Dayne is not your mother like we both assumed because of first Serra’s and now the twins’ looks._

_I sent a fast message to Starfall and a raven returned with a letter from Lord Dayne which revealed that Ashara Dayne had a stillborn daughter months before the war ended. He believes that your mother is a common woman named Wylla who was a nursemaid in their household for many years._

_The Imp says that his brother recognized the dead Targaryen children in our daughter and therefore concludes that your actual parents are Lyanna Stark and Crown Prince Rhaegar. He has no actual proof!_

_It works out both with the location from your birth in Dorne and the time of your conceiving. It would also explain why Lord Eddard never told you of your mother. He just wanted to protect you. I think this theory is very realistic despite its disturbing implications._

_I agree with Tyrion’s belief that a significant number of highborns will see the Valyrian feature on their own in Serra and the other children when they grow up. I therefore created the rumour about the fact that you are Rhaegar and Lyanna’s tragic love child in the Rock. We lack legitimacy and this works in our favour as long as we keep silent ourselves._

_The Kingdom has been rather stable…_

Jon stopped reading for a while. All kinds of emotions flashed through his head. First curiosity, then disbelief, rage, and a weird form of happiness. It was a wild mix and half the time his feelings weren’t even really focused on anyone or anything in particular.

_Lyanna Stark._

It was as shocking as it explained why Father – no, his uncle apparently – kept his mother a secret. There was honestly no reason to hide the identity of Ashara Dayne or this Wylla girl, but him being the last living scion of the Targaryen senior line explained everything.

Inside himself he knew it was true, but he wasn’t really sure if he could accept it.

 _My siblings are actually my cousins_ , he suddenly realized. _My actual half-brother and sister got butchered by Lord Tywin’s men._

He started to regret letting the man just get away in good health.

_There is no proof yet._

This was the most important part. Tyrion and Jaime had guessed his parentage, which also explained why Jaime had suddenly spent so much time with him and told him about the wildfire which apparently was a secret.

Over the last few days, he had indeed sent a few of his most loyal guards in disguise to explore the severely lacking sewers and random basements of the city to look for the wildfire caches. It turned out that they were actually barely hidden, and Jon wondered how it was possible that there hadn’t been any explosions yet.

He conjured an image of his now older daughter in his mind. If he changed her eyes from Stark grey to purple, it was easy to mistake her for an actual Targaryen princess.

 _And she is an actual princess…_ Many older men would make comparisons just out of habit.

Additionally, the twins - _his_ twins – had apparently purple eyes. You didn’t need to be a genius to guess the truth if you saw all of children only once and came to the easy conclusion that their combined classic Valyrian features had to come from their shared father.

 _I wonder how Val’s and Asha’s coming children will look…_ The thought made Jon smile and he remembered the good news about his newborns, Edwyn and Lyarra. Jeyne had apparently named the girl after their grand-grandmother who still was their grand-grandmother and Edwyn Stark the Spring King. Jon decided to thank her for her choices when he returned to the Rock.

He was not happy about Asha deciding to spread rumours about his royal origins by herself. She should have asked him before acting on the Lannisters’ theory.

He understood her thoughts well enough, and it was clever he had to admit. It was basically a reversal of the classic bastard-claim-scheme. Renly had spread the true message that Cersei’s children were actually her bastards with Jaime Lannister to undermine their legitimacy. Jon was obviously a bastard already, so claiming that he actually was Rhaegar’s son by Lyanna would only make the common people accept his crown more. Rhaegar was still a popular figure for the smallfolk in the regions of Westeros which hadn’t fought against the Targaryen dynasty by the Ruby Ford, like the Westerlands.

_But what will Renly or the Tyrells do when they hear the gossip?_

Dorne was also a question mark for Elia Martell had been without a doubt the Crown Prince’s wife when Jon had been conceived and born.

He had already experienced how rumours went naturally out of control though Jon had the advantage that his reputation was already at pretty much rock-bottom in Renly’s Kingdom anyway.

Eventually the nobles will demand proof which Jon neither had nor claimed to have.

 _The North, Riverlands and Vale will continue to support me out of self-interest, and my greatest opponents remain my enemies._ _This doesn’t change anything._

After he had calmed himself down enough again, he continued reading the letter.

_The Kingdom has been rather stable. There have been a few complaints about the Free Folk, but nothing significant as far as I know._

_Uncle Rodrik wrote me how fascinated he is by the assembly line technique used in the Iron Arsenal. He is trying to use it to produce better and cheaper goods of iron, pewter, and other materials on Harlaw._

_The Pentoshi Administrator has informed me also that Magister Illyrio wants to renegotiate the deal you two have made. Apparently, he will visit King’s Landing in the near future and try to approach you. He also has the plans for the royal flagship._

_In the last weeks there have been rumours about a few zealous septons preaching against you, us Ironborn, the Free Folk, and you can guess the rest..._

_I sent men to apprehend them, but I think it’s safe to assume that there will arrive more from the Reach in the future. I am not sure what else I should do. I talked with the Septon Cerion and he publicly spoke up for us after I promised him to renovate the sept of Lannisport._

_Your Queen,_

_Asha_

The problem with the Faith was not a surprise.

The High Septon and the Most Devout had proclaimed Renly as the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms on the day of his coronation, and also started to preach against Robb, Jon, and the Northmen and Ironborn as barbaric demon worshippers. Edmure and Harrold were condemned as heretic usurpers, although they evaded most of the hate.

The highest-ranked septons and septas were well-known to be steered more by gold than by the Seven, so their decision was expected.

Jon had considered the problem of the Faith long ago but had yet to find a lasting solution. He believed Asha’s order to apprehend the zealous septons to be justified, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. The people of the Westerlands were generally believers in the Faith and would be woe to see their holy men be disposed of frequently.

In the end he decided on the easiest solution for now and penned a letter to Asha in which he instructed her and Jeyne to go to the sept every week, with all the children. It could only help, and Jon trusted Asha to arrange enough protection. The more of the smallfolk saw them the better.

Jon also proposed to talk with Tyrion and the Maesters specialised in building who they had demanded from the Citadel to rebuild Lannisport about possible plans for a sept which could incorporate the faith of the Old Gods and the Drowned God. He didn’t know how it would be possible, but one could always dream.

He also wrote her the whereabouts of a legitimization document where she could fill a name in. In hindsight it had obviously been silly to not make several which is why he wrote five more with two naming the twins as Edwyn and Lyarra as true member of the Royal House Stark of Casterly Rock.

* * *

“So, what is your decision, King Jon,” Renly asked with an almost arrogant smile. The Baratheon and his entire Small Council plus the fat High Septon and Jon himself were sitting in the designated meeting room which normally housed the Small Council of the ‘Greater Kingdom of the Storm’ what in Jon’s opinion was a very poor choice in terms of creativity and a deliberate insult to all other independent realms on the continent.

“I wish to make a deal in which you acknowledge my crown and lands as they are currently under my control,” Jon proposed. “The Iron Islands, the Westerlands and the Lands-beyond-the-Wall.”

He obviously didn’t actually control the lands north of the North with the exception of Westwatch, and the Others were slowly seizing it, but it wouldn’t hurt to be greedy in these talks. Jon doubted that anyone in the room actually cared for the cold region, so they were a free bonus with an abundance of untapped resources.

Mace Tyrell, Renly’s Hand of the King, laughed. “Unacceptable, usurper!”

“This does have to be something special you want to give us in return,” Renly spoke intrigued. “I assume that’s why you wished to talk with us in a more private setting.”

“Aye.” Jon put out Jaime’s map on the table in front of him, and spread it out, so most could take a look.

“That’s King’s Landing,” Margaery spoke next to Renly aloud after a few moments. “Though I don’t what those red crosses mean?”

No one else in the room apparently had an idea, but Jon took his time to answer regardless. He wanted to build the tension. “This paper is what I offer you, though I wish to claim half of what is hidden under these marks for myself. I also want the High Septon’s signature on the legitimization documents for my newly born son and daughter. You will also let my lands which I have claimed alone.”

“Don’t tell me…” Lord Varys whispered.

“What?” Lady Olenna snapped, clearly quite annoyed. “What is under these stupid crosses?”

“Wildfire,” Jon answered coldly, and many gasped in shock. “The Mad King hid a huge amount of the substance below the city at the end of the Rebellion. Jaime Lannister gave me this paper and told me of its meaning. My men confirmed at least two locations already.”

The map he had shown was actually not the one he had received in Tyrosh. Jon had remade it and removed a few crosses. Everything they had found there had been carefully hidden in barrels or under planes in two houses he had let Dagon discreetly buy, one of them directly next to the wall between the King’s and the Lion Gate, the other one on Aegon’s Hill nearby the Red Keep.

“Do we come from an agreement or are you comfortable to live with your kin on an artificial volcano?” Jon asked to break the silence. “You could also try to search the entire city, which I would recommend you do anyway of course. Apparently, there is enough to turn all of the King’s Landing into ash.”

“We accept!” Lord Tyrell exclaimed swiftly, and no one dared to argue the fat man who had lost all colour in his face.

_He really seems to care for his family._

“I will order my bravest, most capable and loyal men to search these spots and remove the wildfire,” Renly said without his usual lightness for once. “Lord Varys?”

“I will look into this and support this endeavour with everything I have, Your Grace!” the eunuch replied.

“Good, but I am unsure if I can give you half the wildfire,” the Baratheon spoke, turning back to Jon. “This could be used against my Kingdom in the future.”

“It shall be sent to the Night’s Watch. You are free to send men to oversee the month-long transport up the King’s Road. It won’t be viable to safely move it south again from so far away.”

“Why would the Night’s Watch need such an uncontrollable explosive good?” the Grand Maester spoke.

“There are things beyond the Wall…” Jon responded with a grim face. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, so I won’t.”

Letting everyone not in the know guess about the horrors in the far north was probably more effective than claiming that pale ice monsters from children’s tales had returned and were leading an army of living corpses.

_It’s not like any of these people would come to help the Watch now that their lands don’t border the Wall anymore._

Mace Tyrell at least would probably celebrate the Other’s threat with a massive feast and watch most Northmen get massacred before even beginning to consider any form of help seriously.

* * *

Over the next two months many negotiations with many different nobles occurred. Every King tried to grab as much land as vassals as he could, while the Lords attempted to put themselves in the most advantageous position. Countless betrothals had been agreed upon.

All of the seceding Lords had to pay half their taxes to their formal liege for ten years however and give up a substantial amount of food in face of the already present winter. Every House that lived by the Blackwater Rush and its tributaries including the Gods Eye River had decided to swear allegiance to King’s Landing, located at the stream’s estuary, which was probably a better choice in the long-run for them. Jon would have done the same.

Lady Shella Whent of Harrenhal had died of natural causes a few months ago, leaving no clear heirs behind. The massive structure was now without Lord, so it was decided to give the seat to Edmure Tullys cousin twice removed through his mother, the late Lady Mina Whent, Lady Wynafrei Whent who was married to Lord Walder’s eighth son, Ser Damwell Frey. A small amount of the lands sworn to Harrenhal which were ruled by the knightly Houses Wode swore allegiance to Renly instead of their new liege. Rumours said that Ser Willis Wode had received quite a sum for his choice and could now live in without worries the rest of his years.

The wealthy and powerful House Frey had tried to partly join the North with the official reason to avoid conflicts of interest between their current lieges of House Tully and Robb’s future half-Frey descendants. In truth the old Lord Walder wanted to turn the Twins into an actual border point between the two Kingdoms to likely demand an even higher toll for the crossing of the Red Fork. Thankfully, Robb had decisively stopped the convoluted idea that would have given him the Frey lands north of the river while the southern part would have remained part of the Kingdom of the Riverlands.

House Blackwood of Raventree Hall had joined the Kingdom of the North, making their lands completely landlocked in the heart of the Riverlands. Apparently, Edmure had decided to accept Lord Jonos Bracken’s betrothal proposal for his most beautiful maiden daughter Jayne, angering Lord Tytos Blackwood. Robb’s first instinct had been to refuse the man’s oath of allegiance, but he had in the end relented after coming to an understanding with Edmure. The proud Blackwoods were one of the last First Men Houses south of the Neck and the last nobles south of the Neck that still officially held to the Old Gods, so Robb could only accept. All other choices would have angered his fellow proud Northmen who welcomed the Blackwoods with open arms.

In the end Edmure lost the entire south of his Kingdom as expected. Particularly hurtful were the loss of the town of Stoney Sept, and the lands of the Houses Lolliston of Lolliston, Terrick of Briarswhite and Seywick of Riverspring.

Jon had also wanted to take a bite, so he attempted to convince the House Mallister of Seagard to be his vassals. This would give him an outpost on the eastern coast of Ironman’s Bay. Lord Jason Mallister had angrily rebuked him however and screamed at him to leave the chamber.

Renly had appointed his late older brother Stannis’ only child, the young Shireen Baratheon, as Lady of Storm’s End and his heir until Margaery delivered an heir. Renly and Shireen were the only remaining members of House Baratheon right now.

One day Jon received a small note from a common servant of the Red Keep which invited him to a private talk in an upscale brothel called Chataya’s on Rhaenys’ Hill. Jon disguised himself simply with a dark robe with a hood. The visit to the House of Kisses on the day of his arrival in King’s Landing. They had been lucky that Wun Wun sitting outside the establishment had distracted from the Four Crowns visiting the place. The giant had amazed many nobles and smallfolk alike, though the High Septon was still warry about him. Jon had asked the man to order all septons and septas to stop preaching against him. Ghost flashing his fangs behind him probably made a very convincing argument.

His direwolf had been rather happy since his reunion with his two female litter mates. Because of their size Lady and Nymeria had been let free in the Kingswood before the Lannisters had taken _his uncle_ captive. Jon had read that wolves reproduced incestuously if there weren’t any alternatives available, so maybe he would be able to gift his children a small pup of their own soon.

Chataya’s brothel was two stories tall with a stone ground floor and a timber upper floor. Many of its windows were leaded. Over the door swung an ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass.

When Jon entered the house, he was immediately confronted with smells of exotic spice. The floor below him displayed a mosaic of two women entwined in love. Further in laid a common room behind an ornate Myrish screen that had been carved with flowers, fancies, and dreaming maidens.

Jon took his hood down before being approached by a tall, black woman with sandalwood eyes. She was obviously from the Summer Isles.

“Your Grace, my name is Chataya, the owner of this fine establishment,” the woman introduced herself with a smooth, accented voice. “The Prince is already awaiting you. Just follow me, Your Grace.”

_Prince?_

Disregarding Triston Sunderland’s seven sons there were only two others in Westeros currently that could claim this title, and those were Rickon in Winterfell and his Edwyn in Casterly Rock.

They ascended two flights of stairs to then walk down a long hall and up another stair to a lone door which opened to a turret room. Within the room was a great canopied bed, a tall wardrobe decorated with erotic carvings, and a narrow window of leaded glass in a pattern of red and yellow diamonds.

On the bed laid a naked man, intertwined with two undressed women. Jon was more shocked about a blonde, youthful septa who sat on a velvet couch than the three lovers. She gave him a smile which Jon was unable to place, so he just nodded to her.

The olive-skinned man sat himself up when he noticed Jon’s entrance. He was tall, slender, and fit with a lined and saturnine face with thin eyebrows, black snake-like eyes, and a sharp nose. His hair was lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks and recedes from his brow into a widow's peak. Jon thought the man looked familiar, though he was sure that he had never seen the Martell before.

One of the women, a beauty with smooth and black skin and wide dark eyes, stood up with a seductive grin at Jon.

“My daughter, Alaya,” Chataya spoke next to him. “Do you require any of my girls, Your Grace?”

“Ehhh… no, thank you!”

Jon was embarrassed about his own blabbering.

 _By the Gods, why am I fucking blushing?!_ The septa was exactly his type though.

The two Summer Islanders left the room, letting Jon focus himself on the remaining three present people.

“I am Oberyn Martell, Your Grace,” the man spoke with a wide smile. “This is next to me is my Paramour Ellaria Sand, and I am sure you have already seen my daughter Tyene.”

 _‘The Red Viper’_ , Jon recognized immediately. He was a bit surprised that apparently had a woman of the Seven for a daughter.

Both women stood up as well to politely curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Your Grace.”

Jon bowed himself. “It is a pleasure to be introduced to such beauties, and to you as well of course, Prince Oberyn.”

It was only right to show adequate respect to the three. They were kin to his late stepmother, although Jon hadn’t talked with anyone yet about his true parentage, neither Arya nor Robb.

“We already heard that Your Grace knows many highborn women quite intimately,” Tyene spoke with her demure smile. She had an enchanting, and soft voice.

Tyene _Sand_ for she had to be one of the well-known ‘Sand Snakes’ was the perfect mixture of Val with her white robe and long blonde hair and the slender Jeyne.

 _She’s dangerous_ , Jon tried to remind himself, but his hardening cock wasn’t one to worry much.

“I am honoured that you have invited me, Prince Oberyn. I am curious what you wanted to speak with me about however.”

Tyene took Jon’s softly by his hand and dragged him to the well-cushioned couch with a purely innocent expression. She offered Jon then a filled goblet of Dornish Red which he accepted with a quiet thanks before snuggling herself against him. He didn’t even try to resist for it wouldn’t do good to reject the famously proud Oberyn’s daughter in front of him.

“Ah, I originally just came here to sign the betrothal agreement of my nephew Trystane to the Crown Princess, but I received an interesting letter from my brother on the day after my arrival.”

_Shit._

Jon almost spit out the wine in his mouth. The fact that Trystane Martell was to marry the new Lady of Storm’s End were unwelcome news for the Four Crowns. Until now Jon had counted on the passive Dornish as a silent supporter and constant threat in the back of the Reach and the Stormlands.

“I was surprised that Dorne didn’t seek independence like the rest of the realm…”

“Why only rule Dorne if one can have five times as much?” Oberyn smirked at him, but Jon thought it to be fake. “Now let’s talk about the Stepstones. Torturer’s Deep is apparently under the rule of the White Wolf now…”

He hadn’t anyone expected to approach him about the conquest here and so early, although it wasn’t completely unexpected. By now, Victarion could have taken the entire island.

“It seems you have more information than me, Prince Oberyn,” he responded calmly and leaned against Tyene’s hand who was lightly stroking through his hair. Asha had sometimes done the same, and he missed it. “I don’t how anything about the current situation in the Stepstones. I might travel back there after we are finished here.”

“Hm, Dorne just wants you to remind that you that we will punish any transgression against our people accordingly. Both the Petal and Rhoyos are in the majority claimed by us, mainly to secure a safe passage along the Broken Arm.”

Jon nodded. “We shall not approach your waters and lands with malice. I do not see strife between our two Kingdoms. Maybe we could even help each other?”

“A possibly indeed. I would like to formally invite you to Sunspear then, so you can speak with Doran. Let’s drink on that!” Oberyn exclaimed with a wide, more honest smile. “I am really impressed by the giant and those direwolf you have to know…”

* * *

Harrold Arryn and the Valelords barely participated in most talks. The Valemen’s original goal was to undermine the small Kingdom of the Bite, but King Triston Sunderland proved himself to be political skilled and did everything to align himself to Renly’s Golden Kingdom.

The man had seven sons and several of them were now to be married lesser women of noble birth. His oldest son, the Crown Prince Steffon, was betrothed to the fat Lady Megga Tyrell, one of Queen Margaery’s cousins and ladies-in-waiting because his first wife had died in before they could produce issue. It was by far the best match he received.

Lord Petyr Baelish, the master of coin, had been appointed as the new Lord of Summerhall by Renly for his loyalty. Baelish Keep and the small stretch of coast surrounding it on the smallest of the Fingers had been given to one of Triston’s younger sons who had been betrothed to Falia Flowers, a bastard daughter of Lord Humfrey Heywett of Oakenshield. Triston obviously didn’t care much about station and took what he was offered.

A notable event had been Tyrek Lannister arriving per boat to claim the Lordship of Hayford which was located only half a day’s ride away from King’s Landing for himself and his wife Lady Ermesande Hayford. Jon had tried to back him for he was also the new heir of Ashemark through his mother, but Renly had simply talked to the High Septon who annulled the marriage on ground of firstly the lacking consummation and secondly the inability of the last scion of House Hayford to consent to the marriage because she had been still a babe when the ceremony had been held. The infant was later betrothed to the young Luthor Tyrell, a member of a junior branch of House Tyrell.

The numerous advantageous actions of House Tyrell let to lot of murmuring, primarily by the Lords of the Crown- and Stormlands who felt themselves get neglected in the talks, though at least the Stormlords remained fiercely loyal to the popular Renly.

Jon had been able to force all the relevant factions to acknowledge his claim on the Lands-beyond-the-Wall and the Westerlands. He also named Serra as his official heir in the document, just like Renly did with his niece and together with Robb managed to convince all Kingdoms to promise that they would continue to send their criminals to the Wall. After his talk with the Red Viper he had decided to not bring up the Stepstones in any way. Redwyne fleet was an undisputable force on sea right now.

* * *

The Magister Illyrio Mopatis arrived one week before the scheduled the ceremony of signing the treaty. Two days earlier Jon had mysteriously found a cure for his illness that had plagued him for four or so days. He hadn’t been sick since years as far as he could remember. His stomach had constantly hurt, and he had a hard time sleeping, making him rather tired. On the day before he received the medicine Jon had even shit blood. Ghost, Nymeria and Lady had been his constant companions in the recent days. Wun Wun was staying in the godswood of the keep where he spent most of his time together with the many noblewomen who were currently in King’s Landing.

The meeting took place in a sparsely furnished room in an inn near the harbour. To Jon’s surprise there were three older men in the room who all sat around a table. One of them was Lord Varys, Renly’s master of whispers.

“Jon Stark, the King in the West,” the Myrish eunuch spoke up directly after the door had closed. “Let me introduce you to my dear friend here, the Magister Illyrio Mopatis.”

The Magister was morbidly obese. He had pig's eyes, fat cheeks and crooked yellow teeth. The Pentoshi’s most striking features were his huge white belly, a pair of heavy, saggy breasts above it and his well-oiled forked yellow beard. Just like Lord Varys next to him he used heavy perfumes.

“Just call me Illyrio, young man. I have heard many good things about you!”

Varys gestured to the tall, thin, and gaunt man to his other side. He had a narrow face with dark eyes, and a long, thin beard, which almost reached his waist. Just like his two companions he wore robes of purple.

“And I am also happy to introduce Tycho Nestoris, a representative of the Iron Bank.”

_The Iron Bank of Braavos?!_

“I am honoured, Magister Illyrio, Representative Nestoris,” Jon responded with a quick polite bow, mostly out of habit.

Dozens of thoughts were flashing through his head. He had always believed Illyrio, as a wealthy Magister of Pentos, to be an enemy of Braavos, and that he planned to attack it with the help of Jon’s new ships. The Iron Arsenal was so efficiently built, Rodrik was convinced that the building and productions methods had to be taken from the Arsenal of Braavos which was originally only supposed to be the main inspiration. The Free City was notorious for their security and secrecy regarding their greatest shipyard.

Jon sat down on the only empty chair around the desk which was obviously intended for him.

“I am unsure what this meeting is about,” he began. “I believed that I would only meet with my business partner Illyrio here.”

Varys giggled. “We will speak about that, among other matter. Does Your Grace know why the honourable King Renly has decided to claim the title of Great Stormking, and not Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, or of the Three?”

“Aye, I have. I assumed he didn’t want to get ridiculed about losing half of Westeros.”

“Ah, Your Grace. I can enlighten you then. The true reason is the debts of the Iron Throne, accumulated mostly by the late King Robert.”

It wasn’t surprising that the realm had been in debt, from documents in Casterly Rock Jon knew that the Lannisters had loaned King’s Landing quite a sum.

“About how much gold dragons are we talking here?” Jon asked. “The Lannister were owed over three and a half million as far as I know.”

“That was just half of the entire amount,” Varys responded. “The Faith is owed one million, and the Iron Bank-”

“Has loaned the Iron Throne exactly three million,” Representative Nestoris intervened. “And the Iron Bank will have its due.”

It was a lot, but the war hadn’t been severe enough to impoverish the nobility.

“The Tyrells should be able to pay it, no?” Jon questioned.

“Renly originally decided he could just escape his brother’s faults by claiming the Iron Throne extinct, now he has proposed that he will pay a part according to landmass.”

“That’s hardly fair to the North,” Jon quickly spoke. Robb’s Kingdom made up a third of the all the land south of the Wall.

“Of course, it is. Therefore, the Iron Bank will be paid according to people. With a crown comes responsibility.”

Jon made a quick calculation in his head.

The Westerlands had just about five and a half million inhabitants according to a census which Lord Tywin had ordered before Robert’s Rebellion. Rodrik guessed the population of the Iron Islands to be one and a half million.

Jon had read several books and the guesses varied, but it was generally agreed upon that there lived between thirty and sixty million people in the now broken realm. He couldn’t with what figures the Iron Bank worked.

“So, that would make about… four hundred thousand dragons?”

“Five hundred thousand, we are assuming that every sixth man lives in the Kingdom of the West.”

_Phew._

“I do not seek strife with the Iron Bank,” Jon replied unhappily. “I am willing to pay the entire amount back in spring, Representative.”

He could pay it back just by emptying the vaults of Casterly Rock, but he didn’t know how long the winter would last. It was better to not risk anything.

Illyrio laughed from the side, making his fat cheeks and teats wobble disgustingly. “Splendid, but my friend Varys has a different idea.”

“Thank you, brother,” the eunuch spoke. “My birds told me of the topic your correspondence with the new Lady of Ashemark…”

 _How did he get that information_? was Jon’s first line of thought.

 _What else does this man know?!_ the second, remembering the revelation in Asha’s letter.

“The content of the discussion is purely theoretical,” he eventually replied truthfully. “I am still not completely convinced that it is possible at all. The shippable Tumblestone and the Tarbeck are still almost 150 kilometres away from each other. And there are hills too.”

“What about the actual height difference though?” Representative Nestoris asked. “The Tumblestone into the Red Fork into the Trident is one of the longest waterways on the continent according to the map I looked upon.”

That was the issue with all ideas of a channel that connected the western coast of Westeros with the eastern. The Blue Fork ended less than fifty kilometres from the bay of Ironmen, but at Sevenstreams it was so high compared to the sea water level that any plans for a channel had been abandoned long ago. The same applied to the Neck where Westeros was at its narrowest.

“The Trident and the Red Fork are very slow moving, the Tumblestone only really climbs upwards from the border to the Westerlands. It is still shippable though with smaller vessels up to sixty kilometres away from Ashemark. The Tarbeck is different, its shippable downwards from the ruins of Tarbeck Hall at least. If one deepens both streams, one might close the length of the needed channel to less than a hundred kilometers.”

Both the Magister and the Representative looked intrigued but remained silent.

“I am not actually planning on building the structure,” Jon elaborated. “It only an idea because of the work power of the mammoths and giants.”

“How big are those mammoths?” Illyrio asked. “And how many are there?”

“We have a herd of two hundred fifty only, located north of Casterly Rock. The grown ones are about four to five meters tall, depending on the sex.”

“So, a bit larger than elephants…”

“When I return to Braavos I will talk with our best canal builders who are the best in the world by far,” Representative Nestoris declared. “We might send out a group of learned men to judge the feasibility of this project. The Iron Bank might decide to invest in such a grand project, though there will have to be more negotiations first.”

“Me and a few of my fellow merchants might be willing to support this as well. Completely disregarding the glory of the end result, there surely will be great profit to be had by securing this route for ourselves.”

Jon only nodded silently. He was too shocked to give a proper answer. Of course, he knew what the channel could mean, but he had expected to spend more time on it a decade in the future at most.

The Braavosi stood up from his seat. “The Iron Bank will approach you in the future, Your Grace. Then we shall also talk about the debt repayment though I would like you to sign this document, to formally bind yourself to your given word.”

Jon read through the written text shortly and signed without much hesitation. The Braavosi left afterwards.

“Now, shall we renegotiate our deal?” Illyrio boomed with a wide grin.

“Aye, what is the problem? We have already a sizeable fleet.”

“My plans are in constant motion. With Daenerys Targaryen conquering in the east, the end of the Seven Kingdoms which includes your own coronation and the long-awaited winter…”

Jon understood the man completely. The entire world was changing since he had left the North.

“Alright. What do want, and what do I get in return?”

“We will remove Renly and the Tyrells from power,” Varys responded with twinkling eyes.

“That’s… quite something. Who are you replacing him with though?”

It was now quite obvious that the two men had originally wanted to install their favoured person on the Iron Throne. Jon wondered how they had planned to break Sansa’s betrothal to Joffrey make his uncle not fight for House Baratheon. He assumed that the incestuous bastardy of Robert’s official children would have been released, although that still left Renly and Shireen.

“A worthy King, do not worry about it.”

“Then I just have another enemy in King’s Landing, no?”

Varys ignored the question. “Your Grace, we wish to be able to steer your fleet to help where we think it necessary, with you as ultimate decisionmaker of course, and your troops invade the Reach. You shall be able to seize everything you can, but we don’t expect a long conflict. You might not have to intervene at all.”

_This offer is more than ominous._

Jon wondered if the Red Keep might soon be occupied by a fat Essosi merchant like Illyrio before him.

In the end there was honestly no reason to deny.

“I am with you.”

“How grandiose!” the Pentoshi exclaimed happily.” We shall notify you in detail when it is time. We can’t give you any specifics yet, unfortunately.”

Varys had left for ‘his duties’, so only Jon and Illyrio remained in the room.

The Magister talked about the expert shipbuilders he had sent to the Iron Arsenal and gave him the plans for Jon’s future flagship of weirwood, the _Lady Arya_.

Additionally, Jon asked if the Pentoshi would be willing to help him in taking more of the Stepstones. Illyrio was interested and said that he would consider it seriously when he had more information available and admitted that he had already an agreement with Salladhor Saan, the notorious self-proclaimed Prince of the Narrow Sea.

Afterwards the man also agreed to supply Lannisport with further food. Many claimed that the winter would be harshest since generations, and Jon had to be prepared. Until now, only light snow had fallen.

* * *

On the first day of the tenth month of the year 300 AC the ‘Treaty of Keep’s Landing’ was signed by the most powerful men of Westeros publicly on the square before Baelor’s Sept in front of thousands of eyes. Jon had brought Wun Wun and the three present direwolves as his honour guard to the ceremony. Even after almost three months in the city many still panicked on sight.

* * *

Borders and realms of Westeros according to the Treaty of the Six Crowns:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a big chapter, I possibly should have cut it in half. Feel free to notify me of any grammatical issues because I was rather tired when I scimmed over it.
> 
> I appreciate any feedback!


	41. A Cut for Life (Jon XXVIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon returns back to Casterly Rock.

Jon had originally planned to visit Torturer’s Deep but thought better of it after Asha wrote that she had already sent additional men, including some of the Free Folk, to the Stepstones. If they were successful, the Ironborn would create a second outpost on Grey Gallows. The central island would mostly be taken by the Thenns though who would make it their new home. Grey Gallows wasn’t was not especially fertile compared to the rest of the region, but still not much worse than the abandoned Valley of Thenn.

The Vole and his _Grief_ were loaded up with food to support their fellow comrades to the south, while Jon and his retinue decided to take the Gold Road westwards. If they hurried the way over land was faster than over sea.

Robb, Arya, and Lady Catelyn split from them already King’s Landing and took the King’s Road northwards. In the end Robb had decided to marry his Frey bride at the Twins but postpone his sister’s wedding.

Jon wasn’t quite sure how all that would work out. Robb was the head of the Northern Stark branch and therefore in charge of the lives of his siblings. Jon couldn’t do anything for his favourite _cousin_ who was routinely declaring that she would never marry. He still hadn’t revealed his likely different parentage, and also wasn’t sure if he ever would from his own free will. The truth would only be an obstacle for himself and his siblings in spirit.

Arya had graciously decided to give Lady to Jon. They both hoped that the female direwolf would possibly be Serra’s loyal companion in the future.

They arrived at the Field of Fire after two and a half weeks of riding. The legendary battlefield was nothing but a sea of green grass after over three hundred years. The winter had arrived officially, but it would be months still until lands would be permanently covered in snow.

“Your Grace!” Dagon exclaimed suddenly, slightly turning around in front of Jon on his dark horse. The Ironborn did have some trouble with riding, but by now he was passable. “There’s a group of soldiers approaching us.”

There were maybe thirty people in gear, still a hundred fifty meters away, much more than Jon’s one dozen of guards. Robb had given him some loyal unmarried Stark guards who were desperately needed to assure Jon and his family’s safety in the Rock. More would arrive in the future.

“They don’t wear any blazons. Considering their size, they might attack us,” Dagon spoke calmly.

_These could be vagabonding soldiers left over from the war._

“Aye,” Jon swiftly agreed. “Let’s leave the road! We will make a large detour.”

An arrow zipped above them to only hit dirt. The decision proved itself to be the right one.

“Follow me!” Jon ordered and rode from the road northwards into the large plain. He barked a similar command in the Old Tongue to Wun Wun who followed without fuss, Ghost and Lady at heel.

* * *

The group of them quickly escaped the band of unhorsed men. They moved northwards for three days until they reached the Blackwater Rush at the town of Tumbler’s Falls. Afterwards they moved over Stoney Sept into the Riverlands.

Jon was a bit concerned about further enemies on the Gold Road. A group of rogues of such a seize was unlikely to act autonomously. The near nobles might be trying to use the tensions between the new realms of Westeros to advance their own ambitions. The Tyrells were concerned with different things than criminals in the borderlands.

They passed Pink Maiden to reach the Golden Tooth. Lady Alysanne Lefford was just a year older than Asha, and still unmatched. She had driven a hard bargain for her loyalty and Jon allowed her cousins Myrielle and Cerenna Lannister and their mother Myranda Lefford to live at the Golden Tooth. Their father and older brother, Ser Stafford and Ser Daven Lannister, had initially remained at the Rock as hostage from their own free will. They had however decided to serve temporarily at the Wall.

After assuring himself of the security of the River Road Jon had talked with Lady Alysanne about the possible building of the Tarbeck-Tumblestone canal. The noblewomen had been mostly amused by the idea, not taking the plan seriously.

According to Varys, there were already learned men on their way to observe the relevant lands.

The blond woman’s smile had vanished when Jon had asked her about her future husband. “I am undecided yet,” she almost snapped.

Jon ignored her emotions. He was the King and could therefore arrange matches. He needed to tie his Kingdom together.

“I would prefer a match with someone I can count on,” Jon elaborated honestly. “I suggest Lord Baelor Blacktyde.”

“The Lord of Blacktyde?” Lady Alysanne asked. “I am already the Lady of Golden Tooth and won’t give up my seat to be one of his bedwarmers.”

“Lord Baelor Blacktyde is young and powerful. You should talk to him yourself, my Lady. I am sure you are able to come to an acceptable arrangement.” The woman only made a grimace. “I will not force anything against your will, but I wouldn’t talk to you about this idea without having thought this through. I believe Lord Baelor to be very intelligent, brave, and trustworthy. He is a faithful follower of the Seven and will not disappoint you.”

The fact that Lord Baelor was a man of the Faith made him one of Jon’s best assets in binding the Westerlands and the Iron Islands together. It seemed to make Lady Alysanne consider his proposal as well. The two of them would make a powerful match, and likely secure Jon the River Road for the foreseeable future.

“Alright, I will write a letter to Lord Blacktyde, Your Grace,” the noble maiden conceded. “I w do not make any promises though.”

“This is enough for me,” Jon replied with a slight smile. “I will depart tomorrow. You are free to take your time, my Lady.”

* * *

The journey towards Casterly Rock lasted another two and half more months because Jon decided to visit the new Lady Marbrand of Ashemark, and the cave dwellers at Castamere and Tarbeck Hall on his way.

The pale-skinned Free Folk seemed to be rather happy with their new home though there had been a small conflict with the old Lord Droxx who had sent men into the lands allocated to the new inhabitants of the former seat of House Reyne.

The man was obviously unhappy to be a vassal of House Westerling according to the Peace in the West, but Jon couldn’t care much about the man’s woes. He had been one of the last to surrender after the Rock fell, and only because the levies of the Crag had started to siege Tarriton.

Jon had given the man an ultimatum to stay away from Castamere, otherwise Lord Gawen Westerling or Jon himself would have to punish him.

Casterly Rock was still lightly covered by snow at the top, just like when Jon had departed over half a year ago.

Only Jeyne was awaiting him at the Lion’s Mouth, enthusiastically greeting him and showing him the two bundles in the arms of two maids behind her. The sleeping Lyarra and Edwyn Stark were absolutely perfect.

Asha was sitting in Jon’s solar with a few papers in front of her and a disgruntled expression.

“Asha.”

“Jon.”

His wife quickly stood up and walked over to hug him very lightly with a slight smile, but no further caresses. Jon wasn’t disappointed, his attention being fixed on her visibly swollen stomach.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, thank you. It’s good that you are back, Jon. Much has happened since you left.”

Asha turned around and seated herself on the desk. She hesitated a bit before gesturing to a yellowed open letter to her left.

“A few Lords offered their daughters as... 'ladies in waiting' - basically whores for you. I never replied to any of them. This one arrived not even a week ago from King’s Landing. There was a great wildfire explosion which wiped out the majority of Flea Bottom. Tens of thousands died.”

All energy left Jon spontaneously. He even went to his knees from the shock.

 _This is my fault_.

He had known the risks of the wildfire but revealed its existence anyway. Without his interference this wouldn’t have happened. Jaime hadn’t marked the poorest district of the city on his map, but Renly’s men had to have stumbled upon another hideout in their search.

“Val is due to give birth any day now,” Asha continued, not moving from her place.

That took Jon out of his dark mood.

“Where is she?”

“At Faircastle, she departed a month ago already. She apparently wanted to have her sister by her side. I tried to convince her to stay but she was adamant.”

Jon just nodded, although he wasn’t happy. Val was a stubborn woman and she had told him that many spearwives even went far into their pregnancy into battle.

“Torturer’s Deep is also supposed to be under our control now. Grey Gallows is next.”

“Good, have the Martells already sent a letter?”

“Aye, I will go to Sunspear and the Stepstones later this year.”

“You?!” Jon exclaimed.

“Sure, I already accepted Prince Doran Martell’s invitation. They wish to have full control of Rhoyos and the Petal at least, maybe more, and are willing to discuss a military alliance. Is that a problem?” Asha asked boldly. She had obviously already made up her mind on this topic.

“Of course, it’s a problem!” Jon pointed wildly to her midsection. “You are with child. And don’t you want to raise it yourself this time?”

“I will stay here for a few months for the babe, so do not worry. It’s not like we are in a hurry. I am not a flower, you know. Jeyne is leading the household better than I ever could. With your return, I am not needed here anymore.”

“I don’t like it and forbid this.”

“Don’t care.” Asha simply responded before she stood up with a light groan.

 _Hmm. She wasn’t like this in the past_ , Jon mused, starting to seethe a bit from anger about the stubborn Ironborn.

“I am both your husband and your King. I order you to stay.”

“I am the Queen and can therefore go where I please,” his wife replied and went for the door. “Considering my condition right now and in the near future, I can’t and won’t warm your bed anyway, so Jeyne will have you all for herself. I already did all the work for today by the way.”

“Why are you so defiant?” Jon asked, completely puzzled. “Did I do something wrong?”

Asha turned around. She looked serious. “It’s not you, it’s me. I just realized that I forced myself to act like someone else. This is how our marriage is supposed to be.”

He walked towards his wife and reached out to her. “Why? I really enjoyed this, _us._ ”

His hand got slapped away by a now grimacing Asha. “Well, I don’t enjoy it. I am not your servant and pleasure slave. Please shut your mouth now, I need to rest. Pregnancy and all, you wouldn’t know of it.”

_Huh._

Jon didn’t know how to respond to that and just let the huffing woman leave the room. Asha had been rather moody when she was Serra as well, so this was likely just another phase.

* * *

_Lannisport in the year 307 AC:_

During the next month Jon visited Lannisport several times to meet with Tyrion Lannister. The Imp gave him at tour through the city which left Jon rather impressed. No tents were left for the smallfolk outside the city, the Lannister having built lots of houses in the south-east of the city, called the New Ward. This was crucial to protect the formerly homeless from the ever-returning coldness.

Jon wasn’t an expert in city planning, but he liked the new green parks that spotted the new district. Great gardens for the public would surely brighten the mood of the smallfolk. A few had already existed in Lannisport, but most of them had sadly burnt down completely.

The Lannister had mentioned about his correspondence with Rodrik to build different specialised house blocks for different craftsmen to increase efficiency which seemed rather smart.

Because the man had impressed him so much, and because it wasn’t his fault that Sansa was still with his family, Jon had decided to appoint Tyrion as the new Lord of Lannisport, long before the agreed upon seven years had passed. He would marry a noblewoman of the Iron Islands. Not included into the Lordship of Lannisport was the important Harbour District. The captain of Jon's _Sea_ _Wolf_ , Worren Snow, would manage it together with the harbour of Casterly Rock in the name of the crown.

The two of them later talked with Septon Cerion about the possibility of a new sept. They settled themselves on simply expanding the currently existing Golden Sept on the Grand Square in the direct centre of Lannisport where the Ocean, River and Gold Road met each other.

Jon had given Tyrion the task to summon learned men and try to create a complex which united the Faith of the Seven, the Old Gods and the Drowned God. Jon had absolutely no idea how to accomplish it, so he was rather curious what plans would be proposed.

Septon Cerion seemed to be a rather peaceful man, he had inherited the position after the former priest in charge of Lannisport had died during the sack when the Golden Sept had been stormed and pillaged. Most of the statues and artwork had been either stolen or destroyed.

With the High Septon on Renly’s side, Jon needed a loyal man in charge of the Faith of the Seven in his realm. He had received a letter from Varys that more and more fanatic septons and their followers were appearing at King’s Landing after the ‘Green Day’. They called the destruction of Flea Bottom the rightful wrath of the Seven, a punishment for the sinners who had lived there in form of whores, thieves, rapists, and murderers. Now they were starting to go against everyone and everything else they called an affront to the Gods.

Jon had notified the Lords at the border of the Kingdom to stay cautious and deal with troublemakers accordingly, no matter if they claimed to be septons or not. Zealots of the Faith were generally inclined to generally work against the higher classes of society, so his bannermen were well advised to follow their overlord’s command simply out of self-interest.

He also met a few Essosi who had finally arrived to judge the canal project. The men had been joined in Oldtown by a Dornish student of the Citadel who had been ordered to observe the Kingdom in the West by an Archmaester Marwyn, apparently also called ‘Marwyn the Mage’. The man was apparently very interested in the Free Folk and Giants and Alleras was trying to qualify for a Valyrian steel link which signified a deeper study of magic. Jon found it a it unusual that the Citadel hadn’t send an actual Maester, but only an Acolyte, but he assumed the institution didn’t wish to appear disloyal to their nominal lieges in the Houses Tyrell and Hightower.

Jon had written the Citadel a letter and proposed to give Maester Creylen the title of Grandmaester. According to the answer the highest echelons of the order were still considering how to deal with the new Kingdoms. The verdict was not foreseeable yet.

Overall, with the ever strenthening winter it was an important, but not overwhelming time. Jeyne turned out to be an overenthusiastic lover. He didn't only fuck her in bed every night, but also took her all over the place whenever it striked his fancy. The girl almost seemed incapable of denying his approaches and ideas which Jon couldn't complain about.

* * *

One and a half month later, Jon stood in the birthing room of the Rock. Asha was screeching and Jon’s right hand was numb from her tight grasp.

Jon had received a letter from the Maester of Faircastle days ago according to which Val had given birth to a daughter who apparently mainly took after her in appearance. The two of them would come back to Casterly Rock when it was safe for them to travel.

The formerly white bedding was drenched with blood by now. The babe was almost a month early in contrast to Val’s and Asha had already been in pain since at least twelve hours. The contraction had set in just before noon after his wife had already complained about stomach cramps in the morning. Thankfully, Asha had been with Serra, Jeyne, and the twins. The three children seemed to enjoy the presence of Ghost and Lady immensely.

“I suggest that we cut the babe out of her,” Maester Creylen spoke seriously to him. “Her Grace is unlikely to survive the natural way. This way we could at least save the child.”

“Cutting me open?! Are you fucking crazy, old geezer?! _I_ will gut _you_!”

Jon was a bit surprised that Asha was still awake enough to hear and understand the Maester’s proposal, but he had a hard time thinking.

“No, this is unacceptable. I will not order the death of my wife,” he eventually decided.

Maester Creylen only nodded.

Suddenly the man’s dark-skinned assistant spoke up. “In the Summer Islands we have a high success with such a procedure. I myself was born this way and my mother is still as healthy as one could be.”

Jon lifted his eyebrows. The boy seemed rather convinced of himself.

“I have heard that the Summer Islanders are rather advanced in this field,” Maester Creylen spoke up. “Have you ever done it before, Alleras?”

“I assisted once and observed it twice more. All births were successful.”

“Alright, do it.”

“Wait!” Jon looked down at Asha who was failing to put up a brave front.

“It’s my decision. Jon?” She whispered and tried to make her usual smirk. It was not even remotely convincing.

Jon wanted to argue, but in the end remained silent, only nodding once to the Maester and his temporarily student. If he decided wrong and Asha died…

The two of the Citadel spoke to each other for three minutes, planning how to proceed. In the end Alleras drew a horizontal line on Asha’s lower belly. Maester Creylen would make the cute with a sharp steel dagger which he apparently already carried with him.

Jon almost fainted himself when the first blood flowed out of the wound. Jeyne who had remained mostly silent was grasping his other hand just as hard as Asha currently did while snuggling against his side.

It went faster than he expected, a screaming bundle with black hair and dark eyes in his arm.

“A son,” someone declared.

Jeyne quickly took the babe from his arms before he could protest. Jon’s gaze was fixated on Maester Creylen who was now stitching his wife back together.

Suddenly he noticed that Asha’s grip had slackened. Her eyes were closed, and her expression looked completely peaceful for the first time this day.

_No._

_No._

_No!_

“I- is she…?” He croaked.

Alleras swiftly went with his hand to Asha’s neck before looking back up to him.

“She’s resting, Your Grace,” the youth responded. “Her pulse is weak though. If she will make it is only down to herself and the Gods.”

Jon’s initial relief only helped his nerves for moments. He looked back to the still form on the bed. No woman had ever looked more beautiful and no woman could in the future.

_She is definitely strong._

“Let’s remain here and wait for her to wake up,” Jeyne said next to him. She was breastfeeding the newborn herself.

Jon only nodded and sat down sideways on the bed next to Asha.

The small coarse hand had never left his own.


	42. Cons of Consortship (Asha VIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha recuperates from ber child delivery.

“You don’t need to come here every day…”

Jon just smiled at her. Her husband was lying next to Asha on her bed like he often did in the past few days. The soppy action was touching her heart more than she wanted to admit.

“This at least partly my fault as well.”

“No, it’s not.” Asha responded as sternly as she could. Her words were surely completely unintimidating for him considering that she was still lying on the bed since a week already in nothing but a long white shirt. “Quellon is healthy which is the most important thing, and I am still alive as well, and Maester Creylen says I might recover fully over the next months.”

“Might.”

“I will be fine.”

Jon didn’t reply to her declaration directly. He only stroked her hand. Asha enjoyed his caresses but didn’t want to appear like the frail cripple who she currently was.

“When did you speak to Maester Creylen?” Jon asked quietly.

“Just after you left yesterday. My fever is already slowly going away, he said.”

The old man had also given her his prognosis.

“I know.”

“Then you also know…” Asha trailed off.

_That I am barren._

Jon made a pained face which answered the question.

“It doesn’t change anything for me, Asha,” he hastily spoke. “I was already fine with your decision to not have another child. So, it really doesn’t matter, aye?”

“Lie.”

Jon obviously knew it as well because he remained silent.

Asha had given the Kingdom a daughter who was the designated Crown Princess and a son as spare. She had done her marital duties better than many noblewomen, but the world was cruel. Her new condition was definitely already spread through the realm and beyond. By now, many Lords were looking at their maiden daughters and imagined a crown on their head.

Asha had gotten more than enough time to think over the new development.

“I don’t have a problem with a divorce as long as our children remain first in the line of succession.”

Suddenly, Jon leaned down to kiss her on the lips for short moment.

“I won’t set you aside, I swear. I am not like that.”

_But I want to be set aside… more or less._

Asha wasn’t happy as Queen Consort, stuck in Casterly Rock. She was an Ironborn captain. She could help her people better on her beloved _Black Wind_ , with true warriors under her command. Painfully suffering through her second childbirth and the following childbed fever had been enough for her.

“Jeyne.”

He lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

“You should marry Jeyne under the Seven. She is my choice.”

“No!” Her spouse wasn’t amused at all about her proposal – a reaction Asha had already expected. She had gone through the coming conversation countless times in her head.

“She is already leading the Household well, and so much better than me at it. She is a noblewoman from the Westerlands as well and a very public follower of the Seven. And at last she is absolutely loyal to you and doesn’t have it in her to usurp Serra with Lyarra or Edwyn.”

“Jeyne isn’t completely sane in the head. She is also too soft-hearted.”

Asha was pleasantly surprised about Jon recognizing the latter point as a problem.

“Then you just have to be the hard one in contrast to her.” She forwent the ‘It would do you good.’

“Jeyne is also rather well-known as a mistress. It won’t look good when I replace my crowned Queen with her.”

She waved his concerns away. “She is your salt wife. This is just part of her position. A crowned Westerling would help us to hold the mainland much better than me.”

“But then the Ironborn will rebel,” Jon argued. “My claim on Pyke and the Seastone Chair only exists because of you… Not that I am actually considering this!”

Asha hadn’t really thought much about her people. Serra was still the heir as half-Greyjoy and most Ironborn were rather happy with what Jon had accomplished in such a short time. The Progressives were firmly the faction in power on the Isles now.

Thankfully, Asha still had an alternative ready. This idea had been shaping in her mind while she had been stuck on the large sickbed. She knew Jon well enough to know that he wouldn’t divorce her if he had the choice.

“You don’t necessarily push me away…” she began cautiously. The young Northman looked confused, so she continued. “You could elevate Jeyne to be your true wife and Queen – and Val as well if she wishes.”

“I don’t understand?” Jon responded. “The Faith would never accept something like that. They already do not recognize Jeyne and Val as my salt wives. Polygamy is a sin in the eyes of the Seven.”

“Not for everyone. There is precedent…”

Jon needed a few moments to understand what she was talking about until his eyes widened from shock.

“Are you completely crazy?! The fever must still cloud your mind.”

“You are the last male Targaryen though. Everyone in the Rock already knows it, and by now word should have spread through Lannisport as well and should have reached every noble in the Westerlands and many beyond.”

“Aye, but _your_ plan was it to not publicly acknowledge my true parentage. Considering the immediate claim, I would have on the rest of the continent, obviously the reasonable way.”

Jon was still angry about that, apparently. Her Serra, just over two moons short of her second name day, looked so Valyrian, her heritage was almost undeniable for anyone who had visited Lys once before like Asha herself. Not everyone would be able to make the connection to Rhaegar and Lyanna, but the smallfolk were numerous and had a lot of time on their hands during the new season. You didn’t really need to be a genius to guess the truth.

“You just need a write letter to Edmure, Harold and your cousin. They are dependent on us as much as we are on them. Write Varys as well. Surely, he already knows the rumours and verified them. This might help us get into the good graces of the Dragon Empress too.”

According to Jon the Spider was their ally against Renly. Ashe wasn’t sure who stood behind the man. Jon suggested that it might be Daenerys Targaryen who was apparently going to end up warring against Volantis in the near future because her dragon-made Empire threatened the profitable Essosi slave trade.

“She might give you one of her two remaining free dragons,” Asha teased.

“Hmmm.” Jon looked a bit contemplative now.

 _He is not actually thinking about asking for one, is he?_ Her husband was truly a dreamer. And he might have a chance to be an actual dragonrider – like Serra and Quellon.

“I think I dreamt of her,” Jon mentioned.

“Daenerys?”

“Aye.”

“Don’t change the topic of this conversation.”

“Ugh…,” Jon groaned. “She would be a valuable ally though at least. We are the last of our family, bound by blood.”

“I heard she’s as crazy as her father. Your aunt is as likely to burn as to embrace you, Jon. And she is also on the other side of the world.”

“I am going to send a messenger, although would like to get some sort of proof of my parentage first though before I claim to be a Targaryen. Do you think I should ask Varys?”

Asha shook her head. “He is clearly loyal to someone else and only helps you out of convenience. He might find evidence just to destroy it. I feel we need a master of whisperers and spy network as soon as possible for ourselves. Sailors gossip isn’t enough.”

“Hmm, good idea. I will try to look into it.”

* * *

After two extremely boring weeks, Asha finally managed to get back up on her feet again for her first steps. A week later she could move freely thoroughly through the upper levels of the Rock. In truth it hadn’t been completely awful with Serra constantly visiting her together with Lady who had become her permanent companion apparently. Asha liked the grey direwolf, mainly because she could protect her daughter from harm.

She had asked Jeyne to put Quellon’s crib next to her bed as well, because she wanted to breastfeed and care for her son herself. Maester Creylen had advised against it, but Asha didn’t care. He was her son, and she hadn’t almost been ripped apart just so she couldn’t be there for him.

Two months later the Essosi group finished with their exploration of the lands between the Tarbeck and the Tumblestone and presented their verdict to Jon, Asha, and Tyrion in the Rock. Jon had decided to meet in the grandly furnished council chamber where everyone took their seat around a round wooden table.

On Asha’s insistence Jeyne and Val were present as well. Val had arrived only a few days ago with her daughter who the woman initially had refused to name until Jon had convinced her otherwise. Daena was seemingly mostly going after her mother with her blonde hair, although her grey eyes could come from either parent.

The older grey-bearded man who led the group was named Moredo Loros, one of the most experienced canal builders of Braavos. He had coarse hands from his work as a builder.

A representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos called Noho Dimittis had also arrived. Asha had yet to see the serious man smile once.

“So,” Jon began, “please begin Moredo.”

 _They must be close already_ , Asha noted slightly surprised. She hadn’t been very involved in what was happening since Jon had returned.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Now let’s talk about the proposed canal. I think I can say to begin with that we think it’s possible to connect the Tumblestone with the Tarbeck,” the man spoke from his seat.

“But?” she asked.

Asha had expected a lighter tone from the Braavosi when he talked about the possibility of connecting the Narrow and Sunset Sea.

“The first thing is that we have to do is partly canalize the streams we choose to connect. They are small though and we have to change the flow of several other streams, maybe by building other canals for water supply. Additionally, the elevation difference is while not insurmountable, still significant. I also do not believe that we can make the canal deep enough for bigger ships, the ground is too hard at some point and the canal is very long anyway.”

_Huh._

A quick look to her side revealed that Jon frowned, obviously disappointed. Her love had been so enthusiastic about the idea when he had explained it to her. She didn’t wish to see him be sad. And thought about what Loros had said.

“Our smaller longships can reach only the water depth of one and a half metres if they are loaded with good weight distribution,” Asha spoke about. “That shouldn’t be too much?”

“Only so little!” someone with green died hair exclaimed in shock. “We were thinking about three metres at least.”

“No, we just have to use the longships from the Iron Islands to ferry goods from one transshipment point to the other.”

“Hmmm…” Loros knocked on the table several times, seemingly deep in thought. “Maybe could bridge the elevation change by making several smaller channels with a few longships then as well. We won’t need to construct any locks and weirs but build small points where we load all the wares from one longship to the other.”

Asha could feel how the mood in the chamber brightened and Jon lightly stroked her thigh under the table. She wished he would smile more often to her like this. They tended to be so serious all the time.

Suddenly Representative Dimittis coughed lightly to get everyone’s attention. “That will definitely hamper the efficiency of the canal. However, I assume the cost of the project will go down significantly as well, no, Builder Loros?” he asked with his rough voice and received a clear nod from the other man. “Then that still leaves the problem with the hard earth and stone. We might even need over a decade to create the way through the highest point, I have been told.”

Asha suddenly felt her leg get squeezed.

“I might have a solution for that, but I am not sure if it is not too dangerous,” Jon spoke up. “We could try to blast us though the problematic zones.”

“And with what?” the green-haired man asked sceptically. Asha was curious as well.

“Wildfire.”

“Too dangerous,” Loros immediately answered. The sentiment was apparently share by almost everyone else in the room.

“I think it’s an idea worth considering,” the banker under them spoke up. “It could be both effective and efficient. The market has been flooded with the stuff since much was found in King’s Landing, and since a tenth of the city has been destroyed by it, they might be inclined to give it to us cheaply as well.”

“We could also recruit the alchemist’s guild to make more for us,” Tyrion to her other side suggested. “They would surely be happy to get away from King’s Landing after the accident.”

They ended the meeting shortly afterwards. They already decided to start as soon as possible, while the winter was still mild, they could begin to make the streams more navigable. Val had promised that several giants and mammoths would be able to help them as well.

Edmure Tully was apparently also very happy about the project according to his letters and was ready to contribute together with many of his vassals who controlled the other side of the waterway. Their support was crucial for the final result.

* * *

After three months the only observable remnant of Quellon’s birth was the large scar on the lower half of her belly, although Asha still suffered from light painful cramps and short periods of weakness occasionally.

Asha had initially intended to depart for Sunspear in a few months to not only formalize an alliance, but also try to secure additional food suppliance from Dorne in preparation of a very long winter. The fact that it was only slowly getting colder was seen by many as evidence that spring would only arrive in years.

Her plans were cut short however by the death of Prince Doran Martell. His heir Princess Arianne had not even needed a month to send out letters declaring Dorne’s independence. With winter arriving, the not-so-great-anymore Kingdom of the Storm was unlikely to try bringing the southern region to heel again before the arrival of spring.

Princess Arianne had sent a letter according to which any talks of an alliance to seize the Stepstones were off the table until she had established stable-enough peace. With the recent winter wheat harvest their storages were full enough for at least three years, afterwards it would become slowly become problematic for a great part of the smallfolk. Asha had been quite angry about missing out on the food deal.

Thankfully they had managed to transport almost all the cattle of the Free Folk to some of the Iron Islands, mostly on Pyke, Harlaw, Blacktyde and parts of the Westerlands, concretely Fair Isle, the north-western coast, and the lands around Casterly Rock. The goats, sheep and pigs were accustomed to freezing temperatures from the Lands-beyond-the-Wall. Many of the Free Folk had been herders in past and would continue to be such. The animals were owned officially by the Royal House, although their holders were surely seeing the matter differently.

Jeyne turned out to be a bit reluctant about taking over Asha’s position completely for the Westerlands, but she would do everything Jon wished to do. The only reason Jeyne could possibly deny him anything was if it threatened her twins.

According to the few Ironborn members of the household, Jeyne and Val were extremely popular among the smallfolk of Lannisport – certainly more than Asha and Jon themselves. Val had helped with rebuilding the city and often appeared there publicly. Ironically, Asha had given Jeyne the task to bring the now disbanded refugee camps in front of Lannisport food since Jon had departed. She and Serra were also was the only members of their House who went to the Golden Sept regularly because Asha and Val had thought it to be a waste of time after their first appearances.

Asha had sat down with Septon Cerion and Jon about her proposal. The priest was rather reluctant and mostly warned them of the potential backlash among the common Westermen and the Most Devout. In the end Jon decided that pushing her idea through completely wasn’t feasible in the current climate with the ever-strengthening zealous movement that had started in the King’s Landing and by now had arrived in the Reach, the Riverlands and the Vale. Apparently, Harold Arryn and his bannermen were especially open to the fanatic ideas. Jon had assured her that the ambitious man was in contrast to many of his predecessors far from pious and was probably only trying to one up everyone else. Any sane person could predict how the biggest loser to Harold’s attempt would likely be himself and his own allies.

Therefore, they abandoned any deeper plans for now, but still informally divided the administration.

Jeyne had the ability to handle the nobles with the necessary care and she was easily able to shove all important and hard decisions on Jon, so the Westerwoman would from now on be responsible for her own people who still made out by the majority of the population of the realm while Asha cared for the Ironborn and Val for the Free Folk and the giants as the spearwife had done before.

They hadn’t made Jon’s true parentage official yet. Jon remained adamant about wanting some sort of proof like a semi-credible document or witness account. Asha wasn’t very optimistic about them finding anything. Eddard Stark had likely tried his best to take the secret into his grave.

* * *

“What are you doing in my room?” Asha asked after spotting Jon on her bed and closed the door behind her. He was leaning against the headboard while still wearing all her clothes.

She had spent a lot of time recently in the nursery where she just came from. With Uncle Rodrik still governing the Iron Islands there wasn’t much to do for her except inspecting the workers at the harbour and corresponding with a few Ironborn nobles per letters and messengers. She was responsible for the trade relations between the isles and the mainland for now. Additionally, she had to make sure that her people didn’t make any unnecessary problems. Jon had decreed that Westerwomen were to be treated equal to Ironborn ones. As a consequence, they could only be rock wives in marriages under the faith of the Drowned God which in theory required both parties to consent in contrast to salt wives.

He pointed to a letter on her work desk which Asha quickly picked up.

_Jon,_

_Robb has fallen ill with a serious cold. If the Old Gods will it, he might survive this one, but I do not believe that he is going to see the next spring._

_Queen Roselyn is not with child yet. With Bran gone, Rickon is next in line, but he just had his sixth name day. A boy king is not what the North needs during winter right now._

_Robb wishes for you to come to Winterfell as soon as possible to clarify the succession._

_Luwin_

After simply letting the yellowish paper fall on the ground, Asha swiftly pulled off her boots before she moved onto the bed. She didn’t know the exact ramification of the young King in the North’s death on Jon and their children, but she did know that her husband needed some comfort. All of her siblings were gone, next to her father, and Asha knew how distraught the loss of family could make first-hand. Her mother was the worst-case example.

“You will depart tomorrow?” she asked and sat next to him.

“Aye, I already messaged the crew of the _Sea Wolf_ ,” Jon responded emotionlessly.

“Take my _Black Wind_ ,” she proposed and snuggled herself against him. “She will make the journey much faster. I guess this means that I have to remain here instead of going to Pyke.”

Jon nodded and leaned himself against her. They had decided long ago that at least one of them should always be present near Casterly Rock to prevent easy coups until the realm was stable enough.

“What do you think Robb wishes you to do? The letter makes it seem that he doesn’t want Rickon as his heir.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks me to be the main regent. I can’t rule the North however when I still have to care for the West…”

“Why not just form a regency council from his principal bannermen?” That would be the common solution in these situations.

“Don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t trust them to be fair with the food distribution and tries to find a neutral party.”

 _Everyone will just try to keep his own smallfolk alive, on the costs of another._ The theory sounded plausible.

“He could just elevate Arya to be his successor, no? She would be old enough to be adequate, no?” Asha asked while throwing away the black tunic she had worn to the side.

“There has never been a ruling Lady of Winterfell or Queen in the North before. She and Sansa are already officially excluded from the line of succession and it would only strengthen the claim of Sansa’s children on the North unnecessary. Additionally, putting a sister in front of a trueborn son will make Northern Lords unhappy. Arya doesn’t have the will and patience required for the crown anyway.”

“So, what would you do if you are in charge?”

Jon looked at her quizzingly while she was reaching out for his tunic.

“Didn’t I already say that I can’t rule the North?”

“I don’t believe that. I know you well enough. The North is still your home.”

“The North has survived thousands of winters without me. I am now needed here. And why are you undressing me?” Jon exclaimed.

_You sure didn’t complain when I began stripping off my clothes._

“Fucking always puts you in a good mood,” Asha responded easily and went for his breeches, “so we will just do that before we get parted again. You can take your time in Winterfell. I may not like it very much, but I can still govern the kingdom without you for a few months. I understand if you need a bit longer.”

“It’s too dangerous! Maester Creylen said-”

“A Maester tends to say many things if the day is long,” she cut off his ridiculous protest. “I shall be fine if we start slowly. Did you expect that I will just stay chaste for the rest of my live while you have fun? I have needs as well, you know. When you come back, Jeyne is going to start sleeping in her own bed again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is lots of talk about the winter in this chapter. Only now have I really noticed how most authors just ignore this topic. Canon starts in a long summer, but it is established that it is ending now. Therefore winter should be relevant in almost all longer fanfics for most characters who tend to be in leading positions, but it is barely mentioned, if at all.
> 
> Winters that span several years and cannot be reliably predicted should be so damning, almost half the duties of a noble should only concentrate them.


	43. Union of Realms (Jon XXIX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes the trip to Winterfell.

The journey with the _Black Wind_ turned out to be even more gruesome than expected. Heavy snowfalls had already started when the ship hadn’t even left Casterly Bay.

Jon was still conflicted that Val had decided that she wanted to take the opportunity to see his home. She had insisted on the making a stop at Faircastle though where she gave Daena to her sister Dalla. Apparently, she did not wish her child to be raised by her own family and Jon’s counterarguments had been wilfully ignored. He had indulged her wishes in the end and seen that Mance Rayder seemed to have at least things in his new keep under control. His grasp on the rest of Fair Isle was not as tight as it should be, however, especially to the south. There had been quite a few tales from Val about fights under the Free Folk. The smallfolk had all been given the opportunity to settle on Westerling land on the other side of the strait to not become victims themselves, but a great amount had refused to leave her home, so they were drawn into some of the bloodshed themselves. If the winter and Mance didn’t cull the most rogue elements on the islands, Jon would forcefully with the next spring.

Afterwards they also made a short stop at Pyke where Jon refilled their storages.

The winter was getting stronger with every day and the further north they came, the colder it got. Taking a longship had been the correct decision, for the oars had been necessary to keep up the speed even against the winds.

Normally they would have sailed up the Great Rill until Torrhen’s Square at the Large Lake to get as close to Winterfell as possible, but the long river had been frozen in its upper paths already, forcing Jon, Val and the six guards he had bought to march north-eastwards along the stream by foot to Torrhen’s Square for a week. The _Black Wind_ had turned around before it would be encased in the ice and made its way south again.

When they reached the seat of House Tallhart, it had already been over a month since their departure from Casterly Rock. The castle had stone walls nine metres high with square towers at each corner and a square keep in the centre.

Once they were allowed to pass the gates, the group was greeted by Leobard Tallhart, the castellan of Torrhen’s Square and brother of Lord Helman. Jon had met both men before at Winterfell.

“Your Grace, it is good that you have arrived in the North in good health.”

“Thank you, Castellan Leobard. Has something happened over the last few weeks that I should be aware of?”

Jon mainly meant Robb’s health, of course. The journey had taken way too long, and they hadn’t even arrived at their final destination yet.

Leobard just nodded gravely. “Aye, a raven from Winterfell arrived almost four weeks ago. The King is dead. All principal bannermen have been summoned to declare for the new King in the North.”

Jon felt an emptiness in his chest, but in a way, he had already expected the news. It had been unlikely from the start that they would make it in time, or that Robb would survive. Val squeezing his hand comforted him at least a little.

“My brother left for Winterfell just two weeks ago because he waited for better weather. You should hurry if you want to stake your own claim on the Winter Throne.”

 _I am already seen as a potential successor_ , Jon picked up from the older man’s words.

He wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Until now he had largely avoided thinking about taking a second crown.

“Didn’t Robb name Rickon as his successor?”

“Oh, according to the letter he did, but it was also written by Lady Catelyn _Tully_. The letter also named also named your brother’s widow as regent – a fucking Frey!”

Roslin Frey could have been an acceptable regent in the south, but this seemed truly like a bad choice.

_It will me do no good if I simply stay away. Who knows what is going to happen?_

The loyalty that House Stark inspired in their vassals was admirable and worth pursuing, but only a fool would believe that Lord Karstark wouldn’t dream about being the next monarch. It was natural for everyone who would cast their vote to further the cause of their own family, and one couldn’t fault them for that – at least to a degree.

* * *

“I don’t understand what is going on,” Val complained later with a groan when they were alone in their temporary room. The two of them had been given Lord Tallhart’s quarters because of Jon’s station. The Lady of the keep, Belena Hornwood had moved to another room for the night on her own accord. “I thought the crown is to be inherited according to rules. This is so confusing.”

Jon could understand her issue. Most of the smallfolk probably didn’t understand or care how these things worked as well.

“This is indeed the normal and traditional procedure for most titles,” he explained to her while disrobing for the last comfortable sleep the two of them would have for at least two weeks considering the strong recent and current snowfalls. “Royal succession is often handled differently because of the great responsibilities and powers that come with a crown.”

“So, what will we see then at Winterfell? Something like the Kingsmoot?”

“Not really, although both ceremonies seem to be variations of each other. The Northern Lords will elect their new King in the North and crown him through declaration, although they rarely deviate of the traditional order of succession. According to precedent the Crown of Winter can only be worn by a trueborn Stark.”

“You are not trueborn, but still legitimized…” she murmured while snuggling against him on the large bed.

“Aye, if I would be trueborn, I would likely win without great resistance. I am still legitimized though. Rickon should be the next King in the North, despite his age. I might be made regent, depending on who made the journey through the snow.”

“What about your cousin, Arya? She is older than Rickon.”

“Well, there has never been a ruling Queen in the North before, and I don’t see Arya wishing to be the first. She already hates being called Princess and most Lords won’t like to have a woman in charge anyways.”

“Sounds stupid to me.”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh about the blonde’s verdict.

* * *

“It’s truly big,” Val stated with a light smile while taking in the sight of his home on the distant hill.

“Let’s just enter as soon as possible,” Jon grumbled. “I am hungry and cold.” They had needed much too long for the short journey along the borders of the Wolfswood.

“Ha! I though you were a _Northman_ , my firedragon.”

“Please stop.”

Telling Val about his Targaryen father had been a mistake in hindsight. She obviously hadn’t known much about the dynasty beforehand and didn’t care about lineages in general, so Jon hadn’t thought much when he had told her (and Jeyne) the truth. Val had become quickly very fascinated with the Valyrian family, unfortunately, and even named their only daughter Daena after her favourite Queen Daena the Defiant.

“My mother always called me ‘her little Sunfyre’ when I was little,” Val mused loudly. “I wonder where she picked that name up…”

Jon didn’t listen to her because he was fascinated by the many blazons on the different soldiers in Wintertown which they just entered. There was unusual and worrying amount of armed men actually.

_Cerwyn, Flint, Karstark, Dustin, Tallhart, Manderly…_

Quite a few important Houses of the North seemed to be here and a lot of the minor ones as well. Interestingly enough, most of them originated from the central and southern parts of the region.

“That’s a lot of fancy colours,” his salt wife noted as well.

“Aye, there seem to be lots of Lords here. Just behave as your station demands.”

Val had done well enough with the Northern men during the war in the Westerlands according to his memories, but this was a different situation.

“I am going to be as demure as Queen Naerys.”

“Hilarious…”

The streets were extremely busy. During the summer many of its sparsely furnished houses had stayed empty. Jon didn’t remember the last winter very well, it had been too long ago when he had been much younger.

Jon led them to the main inn which he also remembered to be a brothel. For their effort he promised each guard that he would pay for all of their expenses here.

There was quite a lot going on inside Winterfell when they entered through the large front gates. Jon had apparently been recognized by one of the guards who waved them through with warm greetings. The Northman quickly asked them to follow him.

Just like in Wintertown the snow went up to Jon’s knees, but several paths had been cleared all over the place. It was already evening, so his remaining family and the Northern nobles were surely already feasting in the Great Hall.

The guard led them through the castle. Interestingly enough they were led to a smaller hall near the kitchens that had been rarely used in Jon’s time here.

Jon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the only round table. Lady Catelyn and a young boy who had to be Rickon sat to the right of a pretty brunette with a small grey circlet on her forehead. Seated directly to her left next to a scowling Arya. It was the picture he expected. Interestingly enough, Rickon wore a circlet of dark metal as well.

_Has he already been crowned by the Lords?_

That would make things a lot easier. Jon had no problems with his only remaining male cousin becoming the King in the North. It was the boy’s right by blood after all.

“My Lords, Queen Regent, Jon Stark, the King in the West, and the Lady Val!” Their guide announced them unnecessarily, albeit his form of address seemed to confirm that Roslin Frey was still the interim ruler of the leaderless Kingdom.

Arya had already jumped from her seat and rushed to him with a wide grin.

“Jon!”

“Aye! It’s good to see you too, Princess” he responded before hugging Arya.

“Don’t call me that! Where are Ghost and Lady? You won’t believe what happened in the last week!”

“Later, alright?” he interrupted her swiftly. “I haven’t eaten well since quite some time.”

Arya had grown up to approximately Jeyne’s size now. Her energetic character hadn’t changed though, seemingly.

“Aye.”

He sat down between Robb’s comely widow, and Arya, with Val to the latter one’s left.

“Ghost and Lady are still at the Rock,” Jon said, remembering his cousin’s earlier question.

Because of his furred companion’s dislike for boats he had decided against bringing the direwolves with him. Only Blueberry was somewhere near right now, having served as a scout to find an easier way to Winterfell. The bird had been carried by him on as many days on which she could fly.

Then he turned to Roslin and Lady Catelyn, both dressed completely in black. “My condolences, of course”

The older woman just frowned silently at him while the younger one still managed a slight smile, revealing a small gap between her front teeth. Roslin had very white skin, a pretty face with a small chin, delicate nose, and big brown eyes. Her brown hair and reached until her waist. Jon was almost envious of his older cousin down in the crypts.

“We expected it since we passed the Neck northwards and before we even married. Just eat for now, Your Grace,” Roslin spoke. “You must be hungry.”

_What a poor girl. She didn’t deserve this fate…_

A steaming brown soup with a few small vegetable and meat chunks was placed before him on the table.

“Alright.”

The dish was nothing special compared to his meals in the Rock, but way better than the rations he had eaten on the trip through the North.

“And who are you?” Arya asked on his side, obviously to Val who slurped down her soup quickly, ignoring the spoon and therefore manners. “Are you one of Jon’s whores?”

Jon immediately choked on his meal. It was something different if one himself was the target of his favourite cousin’s outbursts.

“Arya!”

“What, Mother? I have heard he has dozens!”

“Aye, I am one of his whores,” Val answered after finishing her soup. “Can I get another?”

All three female nobles present gasped in shock. They had clearly not expected that reply.

“What is a whore?” Rickon asked.

“Val is not one,” Jon hastily said, after he had managed to clear his throat. He had to intervene before everything went further out of control. “She’s my salt wife, and… a trained hunter and warrior.”

Both Rickon and Arya instantly looked at the only blonde on the table with whole new eyes.

“Really?” Arya exclaimed excitedly.

_Was she always this simple?_

“Sure.”

While the youngest two interrogated the spearwife further, Roslin turned completely to Jon.

“I heard you have a new son and heir. Congratulations!” She spoke with a light smile.

“Thank you, Quellon is his name, although my firstborn Serra remains the heir for now.”

“Why? Do you not follow Andal succession law?”

“My wife, Asha, wanted it so,” Jon responded. “I think she wants me to implement Dornish succession law as well in the future, but I don’t see it happening in the near future.”

“Why do you not make your son your heir then?” Roslin asked confused.

“I don’t think it matters right now. If Serra doesn’t want the crown, I might change it. I was elected as King of the Isles by Kingsmoot anyway and conquered the Westerlands. If I die in the near future a good amount of Westermen will surely rebel and the Ironborn captains will demand another election.”

Jon had only one option to secure the passing of the crown to his blood: he had to amass enough power and truly loyal allies that forces from inside and outside the realm’s borders couldn’t risk to use the opportunity of the succession crisis he would likely leave behind. At the current moment the gender of his heir wasn’t really relevant for that.

Asha could maybe hold the Iron Islands and the mainland from Lannisport northwards, but the southern and eastern noble families were only loyal on paper to him. They would likely just desert to Renly and the Tyrells.

“Her name is Daena, she is my one and all, of course. I can fight anyway, why not?”

“Your Uncle Benjen arrived a week ago as well,” the widow said surprisingly to Jon, both having listened to Val’s words that were clearly destroying Arya’s world picture. “He brought something disturbing with him. You should meet him as soon as possible. He’s praying in the godswood currently, I think.”

A few minutes later Val and Jon followed Arya and Roslin through one of the smaller side doors of the hall and through familiar floors outside and entered the godswood of Winterfell.

They stopped at the great heart tree. A dried-out corpse hanged from one of its branches. Jon wasn’t only a bit surprised when it started twitching while they walked near the body. Its two eyes glowed blue, but only dimly.

_A wight! It was all true._

Next to the tree kneeled a dark-haired man in black clothes who he immediately recognized.

“Uncle Benjen!” He was still his uncle, thankfully.

“Ah, Jon,” the black brother exclaimed with a laugh which seemed a bit out of place next to the bound wight. “We already expected you.” They embraced each other for a moment.

“So, this is why you are here?” Jon asked afterwards and gestured to the wight. “Why hide it away here?”

“There is a second one in the Great Hall for the Lords. I hanged this one up here, so those who search for advice from the Gods are mindful of the threat.”

_Huh, that makes sense, I guess._

“I already knew about the Others and the wights from the Free Folk. That’s why I brought the Free Folk south and sent men and wildfire to the Wall.”

“The Watch thanks you for that, nephew” Uncle Benjen said sincerely, “but it won’t be enough. We already called all the banners. All Lords have to march their men to the Wall. Everyone who doesn’t show up will lose their titles.”

“We?”

_With Robb dead, who could make such a threat?_

“Aye, everyone of note who had already arrived signed the letters together. Those who use the Kingsroad can observe the coming danger here already, but we also have caged wights at the Shadow Tower, Eastwatch and Castle Black. The Lord Commander also sent letters to all great keeps on Westeros for help.”

_Good luck with that._

Jon couldn’t see many nobles make the journey to the Wall with their men because of a letter. The idea with the captured wights was rather ingenious though.

“I write letters to Harlaw and the Rock then too and send as many men up the western coast as possible. Should I return as soon as possible?”

“The winter might be getting too strong to travel to the coast now. Some say, it happens because the Others march on the Wall. They bring the cold with them.”

Jon himself doubted that their enemy was this powerful. There had been absolutely horrible long winters in the past without any problems at the Wall. If the Others could manipulate winter that well why didn’t they just hunger out the humans with harsh winter following on harsh winter?

He had looked into the tales of the Others, and under those people who believed in their actual existence, it seemed to be a general consensus that they had been defeated a long time before the arrival of the Andals. The First Men had at best bronze weapons, probably not even that at the time. With modern gear and tactics, Jon wasn’t too scared. The Wall had possibly only been built afterwards as well. He couldn’t understand how the Others would overcome the massive structure, no matter their mass of moving corpses.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Jon asked. “We march to defend the Wall?”

“Aye, we are already trying to transport supplies there to feed all the men. We are also trying to get as many weapons as possible.”

“Hm, I will ask Asha to bring enough food North for all of my own men then.”

He prayed that his Queen would comply with his wishes. She likely knew at least somewhat of the threat in the Lands-beyond-the-Wall from the Free Folk but probably didn’t really put much into it. Jon had always avoided the topic and now he wondered if that had been a mistake.

“What do you mean with weapons though? Wildfire?”

Uncle Benjen shook his head. “Not really, the Lord Commander let a few men experiment with corpses over the last moons to find out how we can kill them the best. The answers right now are blunt force weapons and fire. We have also been told that we need dragonglass or Valyrian Steel against the Others, so we are already mining dragonglass in Skagos. Commander Cotter Pyke is indeed on the way to King’s Landing with a few wights to get the support of Renly. He will also make a stop at Gulltown. Oh, and Robett Glover is also making his way south with wights on the western coast, stopping at least at Pyke, Casterly Rock and Oldtown.”

_Hm, that should convince most parties of the issue. At least the priests are going to go completely crazy over this._

“What about the succession though?”

It didn’t seem that important on first glance with the threat of the Others, but the Northmen would need a clear commander if they would go to war.

“Karstark has claimed the crown for himself, basing his claim on being the first grown Northman in the line of succession through his maternal grandfather Brandon Stark.”

 _Well, the argument isn’t the worst._ Jon would never let someone outside of the family take the Winter Throne though.

“I hate him!” Arya yelled suddenly and hit the wight with a long branch she had picked up from somewhere, causing it to shriek loudly for a short moment. “He is treating us as if he is already the King. He wants to marry me off to one his ugly sons!”

_So, that’s why they didn’t took their fast in the Great Hall._

A quick look around revealed that Benjen and Roslin were looking expectedly to him, almost hopefully. He instantly understood what they wanted from him.

“So, you want me to claim the throne myself?”

“I have sworn my vows. You have a better claim than Karstark as Robb’s half-brother,” his uncle said. “You were legitimized by Robb, and he also named you his heir during the war. Now we are in war again. Many noble Houses have been vocal on declaring for you, especially the Lord Wendel. Rickon has already been named Lord of Moat Cailin by Robb before his death, so he won’t end up as a beggar.”

_Huh. It seemed like I don’t even have much of a choice._

“I am not Robb’s brother though,” Jon said after a few moments. “I am his cousin.”

He didn’t want to take the crown from young Rickon because of a lie. Jon therefore also wanted to reveal it publicly before his coronation. Just rationally, the truth of his parentage would come to the ears of the Northern Lords in the future anyway. It was better to be open now, in the face of bigger problems.

Benjen only needed a few moments to understand the meaning of words, because he started to gape with wide eyes at him.

“Lyanna…”

“Oh,” Roslin gasped a few moments later as well. “That means Rhaegar…”

“Aye, I am rather convinced of it,” Jon confirmed. “My Serra has the Targaryen look according to someone who knew them well, and my twins by Jeyne Westerling have purple eyes too.”

“Rhaegar is hated in the North. You shouldn’t reveal it now,” Uncle Benjen advised him. “Do you even have proof?”

“Nothing concrete. Do you really think though it will stop me from getting chosen?”

He was still Robb’s cousin after all. Lord Karstark was only distantly related to Robb. Next in line if he excluded Rickon, Arya and himself would be Lady Anya Waynwood from Ironoaks in the Vale, or her oldest son. As foreigner they weren’t an option however, obviously.

“You have the Iron Islands and the Westerlands behind you, so I don’t believe they will deny you, no matter what.”

The short rest of the day passed without greater problems. He and Val largely avoided anyone of note and had a quiet night in one of the few remaining empty guest rooms. In his worn clothes from the day before, Jon wasn’t really identifiable as King.

* * *

“Are you quite finished?”

Jon was getting a bit annoyed by Roslin fidgeting with his crown and clothes. He wore a simple grey tunic with the Stark direwolf and simple boots. They stood in the anteroom of the Great Hall. It had been three days since his arrival, and today was the day they had agreed upon to decide on the new monarch.

Eventually she stopped. “This is good, very royal.”

“Whatever you say…”

The Queen Regent had impressed Jon until now, and he understood why Robb had intended her to be the regent for the next decade when Rickon would be ready to rule himself. She had been rather helpful in arranging private talks with a few of the present Lords. Some like Lord Tallhart and Lord Manderly didn’t need much convincing while other had small demands. Lord Hornwood wanted him to legitimize his bastard Larence Snow for example because his son had died during the war in the south, while Lord Cerwyn wanted to have his family stay in the warmer Winterfell until spring. Quite a few demanded food for their smallfolk, but Jon was wary to make any binding promises about that.

He had also invited Roslin to live under his protection in the Rock if she wanted. Her father Lord Walder Frey had died peacefully in his sleep moons ago, causing in-fighting between his countless descendants. Roslin would not be save at the Twins, and he did not feel that the generally gentle young woman would find peace in Winterfell.

He took Roslin’s arm. Shortly afterwards the door was opened by two servants and the herald who was a new addition to the court of Winterfell announced them as he had been instructed.

“His Grace, Jon Stark, King in the West, son of Lyanna Stark, cousin of our late King Robb Stark, in company of Her Grace, the Queen Regent Roslin Stark.”

Immediately, loud noises came from anywhere. Jon and Roslin ignored the yells of outrage and disbelief however and simply made their way to the main table. They had decided to let a seat in the chair between free as a sign of respect to Robb. Rickon and Lady Catelyn sat to Jon’s right with Arya and Uncle Benjen on the other side.

Jon tried to find Val among the approximately one hundred people but failed. She was likely somewhere to the back.

Lord Rickard Karstark was the first one to jump on a table. “This is an outrage! The North can’t be ruled by a bastard, and a liar as well!”

Jon just held up his hand, asking the crowd silently to calm down. The Northmen didn’t seem inclined to do that, but he could be patient. Eventually, it became more and more quiet, and even Lord Karstark noted after some time he started to annoy the other nobles in the room and sat down again as well.

Shortly afterwards, Jon began to speak. “I know that many are confused, but everything will be explained. The King in the North is dead. As a consequence, it is among all present here to determine his successor. I think all of you have seen what is marching on the wall.”

Loud murmuring was heard. The wight had been removed for the meeting and put into the main square of Wintertown.

“Many Lord haven’t arrived yet or might not have left the holdfasts at all. I think there are enough here to declare the next King though, aye?” No one replied in the pause he made, so Jon continued. “The Winter Throne is empty. There seems to be three claimants: myself, Rickon Stark and Lord Rickard Karstark.”

He looked at the Lord of Karhold who also immediately stood up on the table again. “I shall be King in the North, and there is no alternative!” The man boomed. “What we now need is a leader and I have led thousands of Northmen in the freeing of the southern Riverlands! Rickon Stark is nothing but a boy, but the North need a man now! And Jon Snow… a bastard married to a squid who rules over nothing but scum: wildlings, Ironborn and Andals! I will-”

“What did you say?!”

Insulting the Andals had definitely been the wrong choice because an empty beer pitcher only barely missed Lord Karstark’s head shortly afterwards. It had approximately originated from the table where Ser Wylis and a few of his men were sitting.

Before everything turned into complete madness Jon quickly stood up and yelled for silence.

After half a minute he looked to Lady Catelyn who had stared at him with big eyes since his entrance. Finally stood up with a serious expression and pulled up Rickon next to her as well. Her cousin seemed scared, likely not completely sure what was happening.

“What is occurring here is a sin against the Old Gods and the New! Rickon Stark here is next in line according to the succession! He is my husband’s, the honourable Eddard Stark’s, only remaining trueborn son. He is King by right, and it was Robb’s wish that he would inherit after him. A regency council shall be made from the present Lords who will name a commander of our armies. Lord Karstark’s claim is laughable, and Jon is not only a bastard, but he seems to be a spawn of rape as well, sired by the accursed Rhaegar!”

The former Lady of Winterfell’s speech got vocal approval, but nothing more. Jon himself couldn’t disagree with most of Lady Catelyn’s reasoning why her son should be the next King. He would have backed his youngest cousins if he had not met Uncle Benjen and the wights.

Rickon would have inherited the crown without problems not even a year ago, but a regency council wasn’t what the North needed during a war versus magical ice monsters who could raise the dead. Robb had already named his brother of Lord of Moat Cailin, and Jon vowed to himself that it would be so.

After Rickon and his mother had taken their seats again, it was Jon’s time.

“I do not wish to appear as a usurper, but these are trying times for all of us. In spring we can reconsider the result of today.” he began calmly. “Robb and I grew up as brothers, and when our Father had been captured, I took the driftwood crown out of duty to help him. I am a King already, I have the Iron Islands and the Westerlands behind me, and I have already ordered all my men to sail up the coast! I brought the wildlings south of the Wall, so they would not turn into the Other’s minions! I sent thousands of men and supplies to the Wall while the rest of the Westeros ignored them! What you need now is a man of character who does not greed for power when our greatest enemy stands at our border,” here he pointed to Lord Karstark who was suddenly the focus of many glares. “And yes, I do not want to start my reign based on a lie. My uncle protected me from hidden blades by claiming and raising me as his son. In truth my mother is Lyanna Stark, and my father Rhaegar Targaryen.”

The fact that no one interrupted him made Jon a lot more confident.

“Just remember,” he continued. “I am half-Stark. I was raised like a Stark. Robb legitimized me as a Stark. Therefore, I am a Stark! Under me we shall defeat these wretched foes. Under me a Northman will rule more and greater than ever before!”

Honestly, the speech he had made felt far inferior to the one on Old Wyk. In the end he was destined to win as long as he didn’t make himself look like an absolutely incompetent fool. The noise from all the occupied benches showed that he had done an adequate job, however.

Roslin stood up to take Robb’s iron crown from the Winter Throne behind them. More and more people pulled out their swords and held them up in the air.

“The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!”

He felt his crown of weirwood and gold get removed and kneed down a bit, so the smaller woman could place the simpler one on his head.

When everyone had calmed down again, Jon gave his first orders. “Every Lord has to raise as many men as he can and free up adequate supplies for the journey to the Wall. All soldiers shall gather at the Shadow Tower, Castle Black, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Command at Castle Black has the Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. I shall arrange that we get supplies from the Westerlands from the Bay of Ice to begin with. Lord Karstark shall command the men at Eastwatch.”

He threw a bone to the Lord of Karhold who quickly accepted it with a slight nod. He wasn’t sure how much the man had actually believed that he could be the next King in the North, but it was better to prevent any feud as soon as possible to one of his principal bannermen.

“Your Grace,” an older woman suddenly spoke up. “Can you not elaborate your claimed parentage? Quite a few here are rather curious, I would say. Lord Eddard was known as honourable to a fault. Why would I lie”

Jon recognized the two axes crossed under a black crown on the front of her mantel as the symbol of House Dustin of Barrowton, making the woman Lady Barbrey Dustin who he had in the past had rather friendly correspondence with.

“One look at my oldest daughter will clear any doubts you have about my Targaryen ancestry,” he responded. “My uncle Eddard lied to protect me, his nephew, from Lord Tywin’s butchers. I don’t think there is anything more honourable you could do for family than sacrificing your own name for the safety of kin. My parents were wedded before a weirwood on the God’s Eye, so I am trueborn.”

The last part was of course only conjecture. If they had done some fancy ritual or not, if his mother had been raped or not, it didn’t really matter to Jon himself. The lie was hardly disprovable and would help both him and his children in the long run.

“What His Grace says is the truth, Lady Dustin” a male voice was suddenly heard from a corner of the hall.

“And who are you?” Jon asked surprised, starting to get worried.

He couldn’t recognize the extremely small dark-haired man who had stood up. No blazon was visible on his rather shabby clothing.

“I am Lord Howland Reed, the Lord of the Neck and Greywater Watch. I haven’t left the Neck since Robert’s Rebellion, so no one here likely can recognize me. I just arrived a few hours ago. I travelled after the Rebellion together with Lord Eddard, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ser Mark Ryswell, Ethan Glover and Lord Willem Dustin.” Lady Barbrey loudly gasped at the last name. “We found Lyanna Stark in Dorne, protected by three Kingsguards, the Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Daye and Ser Oswell Whent. Only me and Ned survived the battle against him and witnessed Lyanna Stark’s death after she bore our new King here. Ned later decided to name the babe Jon and claim him as his own bastard for the child’s safety.”

Jon had been quite tense through the man’s tale. Thankfully, Lord Reed didn’t contradict his tale about the marriage. Considering that he had been protected by almost the legendary White Bull and the Sword of the Morning, it didn’t seem to farfetched to assume that Prince Rhaegar had married his mother.

It also was one thing to strongly believe a tale and another to have it seemingly confirmed. Jon felt both relieved and burdened by the crannogman’s words. He knew that his father’s true identity would shape a large part of his future, regardless of his own deeds in the coming war against the evil that had returned from the realm of myths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been rewritten several times, but I hope it came out alright, especially plotwise.
> 
> The Night's Watch look competent here because they realized what there actual purpose is and focused on it.  
> "Muh, wildlings bad!" is just so stupid after the wight attack at the start of canon.
> 
> The fact that corpses can rise canonically rise at Castle Black make it only logical to use that fact to study the absolutely unknown enemy. The idea to use weights to get allies is one of the few smart things from the last seasons of the TV show, but there is no reason to necessarily capture one, if you can try to produce one or more.
> 
> I hoped you liked my interpretation of the succession laws of the Winter Throne. I feel like most people ignore that in thousands (!) of years there seemed to have never been a Queen in the North (or solely ruling Lady of Winterfell). Sansa fans might have a hard time accepting this but this heavily implies that woman are traditionally exluded from inheriting the crown and Winterfell.


	44. Faith (Jeyne I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne decides that change is desperately needed.

„Sister? You asked for me?”

The black-haired woman shoved aside the paper she was writing on and looked up from behind her desk – _Jon’s_ desk.

“Don’t call me that, Jeyne. It’s Asha.”

Jeyne didn’t understand why the Queen Consort wanted to be addressed so coldly.

“Are we not sisters? Val and I call each other sisters all the time. We are sister-wives after all.”

“You two are,” Asha responded resolutely. “You are the salt wives. I am the rock wife.”

Jeyne understood the difference in their station well enough. The rock wife stood above the salt wives in every way. Serra and Quellon came before her Lyarra and Edwyn. That had never been a problem for Jeyne herself though. Their father would assure a happy life for all of them.

Rock or salt wife, it didn’t matter much to her.

“We are all His Grace’s wives still…”

Asha just gave her a blank stare. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to agree.

“Sure, sure, sister Jeyne. Now sit down.”

“Aye.”

After having taken her seat on the other side of Jon’s desk, Asha finally revealed the reason for her summoning.

“I shall depart in a week, Jeyne. As long as I am away you are taking over my duties as Queen. If you aren’t sure what to do, just consult Maester Creylen or Ser Harras who I have appointed as Castellan of the Rock indefinitely.”

“Eeeeh, sister…” Jeyne mumbled, still in shock.

“Do you not think yourself capable? You are already responsible for the Westermen officially. This is just a bit extra load, making you deal with the Ironborn on the mainland and the Free Folk too. We both saw the thing down at the harbour. Here’s your letter of appointment as Lady Regent of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands while I am away.” Asha pointed towards a paper on the work desk.

Jeyne quickly snatched it up and checked if the Ironborn had spoken truthfully. She had.

“Will you take over the household of Winterfell while His Grace is fighting against the White Walkers at the Wall?” Jeyne asked with a small shudder.

The wight had been very scary and she still sometimes saw it in her dreams. Without Jon by her side, the sleep she got was only half as good.

Asha – with the help of Septon Cerion – had summoned all great Lords of the Westerlands to Lannisport to inspect ‘the wight’. There hadn’t been needed much convincing afterwards with many of the attending nobles announcing that they would take their best men northwards to fight the against the evil Beyond-the-Wall.

“Winterfell?” Asha responded. “It’s so far inland, it’s probably unreachable in an acceptable time with the snow that has to have fallen over the last weeks in the North. I am going to lead our main convoy up the coast to the mouth of the Milkwater to support Jon.”

That made sense, so Jeyne nodded in acceptance. Their husband needed supplies up in the freezing cold. It had to be terrible for him…

There was no doubt in her mind that Jon would vanquish the Others. There was no greater man, and it had been no surprise to Jeyne when Asha had read his letter out loud to her and the children that he had been crowned as King Robb’s successor, even when he was only Stark by the female line. That Jon was actually Rhaegar’s son and the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms only proved what she had always known.

“But…” Jeyne trailed off, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“What?” Asha snapped.

“I am with child again. I can’t be regent…”

Jeyne had known for a month already but had been too wearied to reveal her condition. Asha could have gotten mad or jealous because the woman could never again have the fortune of carrying one of Jon’s children herself.

“And?”

_What?_

“How far along are you?” Asha asked without much emotion.

“Maybe a third of the way,” she responded quietly.

“I did just fine while having Quellon. Just stay rational and think over every decision you take twice. Any other problems?”

“What about the Stormkingdom? How should I deal with them? What if they attack while you and Jon are gone?!”

She was panicking. Jeyne couldn’t order men to their deaths, and also never desired to.

Suddenly, Asha shoved a letter in front of her.

* * *

_Honoured Queen Asha Stark,_

_In light of the recent events in the North, I would like to announce that I take the call for help from the North very seriously. As a consequence, I have collected five thousand of the strongest and bravest men from the Reach, the Crownlands and the Stormlands and will depart for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea._

_Be assured that there shall be no conflict between while the Others have not been vanquished, as decreed by the High Septon publicly on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor._

_In good faith,_

_King Renly I Baratheon_

* * *

“See,” Asha drawled lazily. “Everything is going to work out just fine. The Riverlands are our allies and currently occupied with their own issues, so our neighbour shouldn’t be able to bother us too seriously. Was that it?”

Jeyne quickly nodded her head.

“Great. You will start tomorrow. Just ask me any question that comes to your mind.”

* * *

Jeyne was organizing and trying to take in all the important paperwork in Jon’s solar. She obviously didn’t and wouldn’t use the chamber herself, simply out of respect. If the King returned, everything which had happened under her watch had to be ready for him to easily control and oversee.

She put the formal decision with Asha’s signature to stop the building on the canal because of the thick snow into the big ‘building ledger’ and put it to its rightful place in one of the unlabelled chests that had been put into the corner of the room.

After finishing her eyes stared longingly at the massive wooden desk in the middle room. She had never been seated behind the piece of furniture, but she had spent hours either bent over or kneeled under it to serve diligently.

Her eyes travelled to the only drawer that was part of Jon’s work desk. Jeyne didn’t remember ever opening it.

_Maybe there is something important there which I have overseen._

After opening it she saw several written-on papers. a stack of opened letters. Jeyne quickly recognized the handwriting of the one on the top.

_Jon…_

Jeyne missed him so much. His eyes, his voice, his hands, his manhood insider her…

Out of curiosity and longing she took all three letter out of the drawer put them on the desk. Two were clearly Jon’s while the one on the bottom wasn’t.

* * *

_Lords of Ladies of Westeros,_

_A great evil has been discovered by the men of the Night’s Watch in the Lands-beyond-the Wall._

_The Others have returned, commanding legions of wights, corpses controlled by foul sorcery._

_The enemy is marching southwards for the Wall. Never since the Long Night have the realms of men faced such a threat._

_The Night’s Watch is an ancient brotherhood with the task to shield civilization from the Others from the Lands-Of-Always-Winter, but currently we are too weak to face these foes from legends._

_Therefore, we ask for support in men and supplies in this second War for the Dawn, so we can fulfil our oaths._

_997 th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,_

_Jeor Mormont_

* * *

_My Queen,_

_I have arrived with Val safely and healthy at Winterfell. Robb has already died weeks ago if you haven’t heard of it yet._

_My uncle Benjen, the First Ranger of the Watch, is also here with a few brothers from Castle Black. Maybe, you have received a letter from the Night’s Watch already. It is all true. Two captured wights, living corpses, have been brought here for all to see._

_You need to raise troops and ferry them north to the Shadow Tower. Focus yourself primarily on experienced Westermen. Discipline is the key to victory for our defence of the Wall._

_Even more important are supplies. Open the storages and sent as much as you can for us. Be aware of the cold up here in the North._

_This is an official royal order of your King. You are allowed any means which you deem necessary to complete the task._

_In a few days a new King in the North will be chosen. I am one of the favourites, against my cousin Rickon. If I decide to take the Winter Throne, I will reveal my true parentage. Be ready for all reactions._

_Apparently, captured wights are transported per ship down both coasts. Robett Glover should stop at both Pyke and Lannisport on the way to Oldtown. Such an event could easily cause a panic among the smallfolk, especially with the more religious folk._

_Jon Stark,_

_King in the West_

* * *

_Asha,_

_I have been crowned King in the North, revealing myself beforehand as Rhaegar’s son._

_Surprisingly Lord Howland Reed, a companion and close friend of my uncle Eddard, and the ruler of the crannogmen of the Neck has witnessed my birth and my mother’s subsequent death in Dorne at a place called the Tower of Joy._

_I have commanded all Northern Lords to march their men to the Wall. I will await our men and supplies at the Shadow Tower. It’s currently unpredictable, how long our conflict with the Others will last. We do not know much about their goals, tactics, military strength, and intelligence. I would guess that it might last until spring._

_You will remain at the Rock until I return. As the monarchs over half of the continent we will likely perceived as one of the main threats from now on. In the current situation, many will try to weaken our position in the Westerlands, even in the winter. I trust on your abilities._

_Your husband,_

_Jon_

* * *

Jeyne made wide eyes at the last paragraph.

_Jon ordered her to stay here and be the regent…_

The fact that Jeyne already know the rest of the message meant that Asha had not only clearly directly disobeyed the order, but also tried to hide it. This was just too shocking.

Asha was Jon’s Queen, his rock wife. Just like Jeyne herself, it was her duty and privilege to serve her husband with all she had, mind and body. Going against Jon’s wishes was…

_Unfaithful. Perfidious. Unchaste. Wicked._

_Asha doesn’t deserve Jon,_ Jeyne realized moments later with a small gasp.

He was too noble, and too gracious to her. The Ironborn woman clearly had to be shown her place. Absolute subservience was expected of a dutiful wife to her man and while Jeyne was ready to give everything to their shared husband, Asha obviously did not.

_I need to make her docile for Jon, so she may serve him like a Queen Consort is supposed to, with reverence, selflessness, and worship._

* * *

“Hello, sister,” Jeyne greeted Asha kindly after stepping into the room that was guarded by four men in dark red.

“Bitch, what are you doing?” The Ironborn female screamed at her. “I get called because of a ‘important issue’ by you per note and find myself locked inside this chamber.”

Jeyne had just the door behind her and started to turn around when two hands grabbed her neck tightly from both sides. Asha was directly glaring into her eyes.

“Hmmm!”

_Sister…_

“What? I can’t hear you!” Asha spoke with a snarl. “Please, bitch, speak clearly.”

“Hmmm… hm.”

_Ouchy, ouch._

Jeyne managed to stay relatively calm, although her neck would likely bruise. To pleasure Jon, she had learned to hold her breath for quite some time. The King rather enjoyed pressing her against something with either only his hands or his entire body weight. He never squeezed her blood or air ways shut to be fair. Jon was so considerate of his lovers' health.

Apparently, Asha wasn’t satisfied with her reaction because she simply let Jeyne fall to the floor where she could recover for a few moments.

“Do you want the crown, you cunt, or why am I jailed inside my own bedroom?” Asha ranted. “I have regretted forcing you on Jon a long time ago. This lovesick idiocy is annoying. He should have raped you to death the first time, or at least broken you completely. Well… there is still time.”

_Rape?_

“How could he have raped me on our wedding night?” Jeyne asked confused. “He simply took his lawful rights and showed me my station. I am an obedient wife now. I would never dare to deny him…”

Jon had even given her gifts after their first night, so she could feel happy in her new position. It had been such a lovely gesture. He was the perfect husband any maiden wished for in her dreams.

“Why am I even here. I was supposed to depart today. My crew is surely waiting on me.”

Jeyne shook her head in denial.

“No, I told them truthfully that you have received orders to hold the Rock. I found Jon’s letter in the drawer of his desk. They have already left the harbour hours ago.”

From Asha’s gritting teeth, her dislike about the situation was obvious. It was an expected reaction from such a bad woman.

“Why am I here? Jon will be furious.”

“Not with me,” Jeyne responded, completely convinced. “I gave your vice-captain a letter from me which explains the entire situation. When he returns, you shall be exactly how he desires.”

“Me and Jon are working out just fine,” the Ironborn snapped back.

“You shall have an even greater relationship after you have recognized, accepted and fixed your mistakes. Jon will love you more than ever before, and you are going to be _sooo_ happy as his Queen.”

“I am managing just fine as the Queen. I never heard any complaints of note from Jon as well. There is a reason he trusts me with my power, although I obviously was a complete fool to trust you.”

“Jon is perfect of course, but he is only a man… A Queen has to be beautiful and merciful. She has to win over the smallfolk while the King is on campaign. As an obedient wife it is my duty to show you as my sister, how to become like that. I believe deeply that you shall be greater than I ever could myself.”

Jeyne could already picture Asha gracefully gliding with a gentle smile through the great streets of Lannisport, being cheered on by the entire smallfolk from the ground and windows.

“Please, Jeyne. Just shut your fucking mouth,” the Greyjoy scion groaned. “This is making me sick.”

“That’s not how a well-educated noblewoman should talk, let alone a Queen.”

“Fuck you, bitch”

_This is going to need a lot of work._

“Are you ready for your first lesson?” Jeyne asked with a smile.

She would be patient – for Jon. Everything she did, she did for Jon.

Asha just glared at her. “I am going to leave now. I am done with this nonsense.”

“This entire corner of the quarter has been locked down, sister, inclusively the secret tunnels with several loyal guards to me at every exit. There is no point in resisting.”

“I am their Queen, they wouldn’t risk hurting me seriously,” Asha said before marching for the door.

She didn’t even make it out of the corridor before two crossed staffs blocked her way. Asha tried to run slide-past one on the left, but simply got slammed into the stone wall.

“Fuck!”

“No cursing, sister!” Jeyne chirped from behind her. “Are we going back inside now peacefully, or should Lothar drag you? That would not fit your station.”

Asha just stomped passer her, shoving her away forcefully, and then jumped onto the small bed in the chamber.

Quickly, Jeyne went out of the door around a few corners and winked to Briony, the head maid of the royal quarters, and three other maids. Briony was a dear friend to her and the mother of Joy Hill who was serving as Jon’s assistant when he was present at the Rock. Currently the Lannister bastard helped Jeyne herself. They carried all types of clothes that Asha would wear for today.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” Asha murmured lazily from the bed.

“A Queen must dress like a Queen. She has to be the most impressive woman all the time.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I do not wear dresses all the time,” Asha drawled while moving towards a sitting position. “Only for special occasions. I don’t like them.”

“You wore a few of them when Jon was in King’s Landing, although they weren’t very… royal.”

They had all been monocoloured, either grey or dark red. It was just way too plain. Jeyne sometimes wore similar gowns when Jon was away, but she was only a mistress in the end.

“Aye, but now I don’t want to anymore. It is winter anyway. It’s too cold anyway.”

“Beauty comes with pain. That’s what my mother always said,” Jeyne responded and gave a nod to the maids.

“I don’t think she meant it like that.”

When the maids moved towards her, Asha lifted her fists. The women obviously weren’t willing to risk their health, so they stopped and looked back to Jeyne with uncertain eyes.

_Oh, Jon, please give me your blessing for what I have to do._

“Serra and Quellon will be very sad to not be able to see their beloved mother, even if she is so near,” Jeyne spoke as emotionless as she could. “They think you gone anyway, so I guess its not a big deal.”

“You dare to hide away my children from me?” Asha screeched and rushed towards her.

_Ah!_

Jeyne immediately cowered away moving both hands towards her stomach.

“Not the baby, please!” She yelled hastily in panic.

No pain hit her over the next moments, so when she turned around and looked for her sister-wife, she saw Asha glaring at her hateful with her hands balled together at her side.

Jeyne needed to minute to stop any tears. That had been just too scary. Eventually, she got herself together again.

“You are going to see Serra and Quellon as much as you want, sister, if you participate in your lessons,” Jeyne spoke, cautiously at first. “We are both mothers and therefore I know that we would both do everything for our babes. Do you really wish to hurt them with your stubbornness? You already are hurting them already with your behaviour that reminds the people of your Ironmen blood. But now you still have the time to change your act. The winter and the… _evil_ which Jon is fighting will make the smallfolk and nobles forget everything else. With spring you can show yourself as a true Queen and make everyone love not only yourself, but Jon and Serra and Quellon too.”

Her spirited speech seemed to have touched a nerve of Asha because she didn’t insult her immediately.

“I want to see Serra and Quellon now,” she said coldly.

Jeyne however had noticed the thoughtful look she had revealed for a few moments. This was where she couldn’t be negligent.

“I will call them if you don the dress.”

“You will also let me leave this place.”

Jeyne shook her head resolutely.

“You have to focus only on yourself now. Do not worry, sister. I will ask for your input on every bigger issue. The dress now? I have even stitched a Targaryen dragon on it for you.”

Asha only looked blankly at her for a few moments. “Alright,” she basically hissed. “I am going to play your game for now, bitch. Jon is going to order you to let me free anyway, and then you will regret this move, I swear.”

“Those aren’t the word choice and tone fit for a true Queen, sister.”

Jeyne smiled widely. She had been actually quite doubtful that this would work, and that Asha would call out her bluff about keeping away her children for months from her.

* * *

After seeing both Serra and Quellon, while being dressed completely in the clothes befitting a royalty, Asha had quickly become unwilling to follow any deeper instructions again and started to sulk in her chamber. Until now, the fact that the Queen was held unwillingly in the Rock hadn’t spread much. Jeyne had successfully convinced Serra that her mother remaining in the Westerlands was a big, important secret which the girl had to keep.

Asha was quite mad about being confined to learn her lesson. She had clearly received the education of an Ironborn Lord on Pyke and Harlaw, but not of a true noblewoman. The woman had actually decided against her husband and King’s explicit wishes that she wanted to fight against the Others and their undead hordes herself. It was still simply unfathomable.

Jeyne had therefore been forced to stem many of Asha’s duties alone. Lord Harlaw of the Ten Towers had been appointed as regent of the entire realm, so any bigger decisions like trade agreements and new laws were done by him, relieving a great part of Jeyne’s pressure The Reader as he was called was Jon’s right-hand man, and somewhat Hand of the King. He was caring of the Iron Islands and its people currently, as he had ruled them as regent since the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Quickly, she however noticed how she was slowly becoming overwhelmed mainly because her lack of experience in many areas of ruling such large lands and realized that she needed a few dependable advisors. Officially she had already been in charge of the Westermen, but because of the coming winter she had only been able to take care of the issues of the nearby smallfolk. There had not been much exchange with nobles yet.

Jeyne found it a bit questionable why Jon or Asha hadn’t created a real small council by now and were insisting on doing so much themselves. After three weeks she created a temporary small council that would meet every seventh day.

The first seat on the temporary council next to Jeyne herself was filled by Ser Harras, the castellan of the Rock and Lord Commander of the City Watch. He was clearly a man Jon and Asha trusted because of his blood, past accomplishments, and character. Jeyne gave him the title of Master of Laws.

Maester Creylen was a logical second appointment. The old man had given them no reason to doubt his allegiance. The Citadel had denied them the right Jon to name a Grand Maester, but sent no one themselves until now, so he would just serve as the Maester of Casterly Rock.

The next seat was filled by Briony as the High Stewardess of the Rock, a newly created position whose tasks had been formerly fulfilled by Jeyne herself. As the regent, she had to delegate responsibilities of leading of the household to someone else. She wasn’t necessary the most qualified choice for the position as the former head of the maids of the royal quarters, but Jeyne saw her as a dear friend and without much ambition. Briony had helped her a lot during the later stages of her pregnancy with the twins.

The household of Casterly Rock had barely been touched in the conquest and after Jeyne had promoted a few of the higher servants to positions previously occupied by knights and nobles who were now either in exile or at the Wall the household was working without much issues. If there were significant problems Jeyne would just intervene herself.

Lord Tyrion Lannister of Lannisport had been named to the council as the Master of Building. Jon was planning to create the greatest things in Westeros which would cement his grand legacy like a big canal, so it was logical to give him a voice. As a Lannister, Jeyne didn’t want him to give too much power, however. Her mother had always told her scary tales about Lord Tywin.

Master of Ships was Lord Worren Snow. Until now, Asha had taken care of most of what the position entailed. He was the captain of Jon’s personal _Sea Wolf_ and the official harbour master of the Rock and Lannisport, so he was surely well versed in these things. For his loyalty to the King he had even been granted a small holdfast on the northern coast of Casterly Bay.

Jeyne didn’t know anyone truly reliable to be the Master of Coin. This was a position where one could easily steal from the crown, so absolute loyalty was prudent. She herself had learned numbers but didn’t feel very confident to do an adequate job herself. Jon would surely be most disappointed if there was a serious mistake that lost him money and that was an unacceptable outcome.

In the end she settled on her uncle Rolph, the Lord of Clegane Keep and former castellan of the Crag, with Asha’s surly given approval. The current head of House Spicer’s grandfather had been an actual spice trader, much to the embarrassment of his descendants like her mother, so Uncle Rolph was well versed with coins, taxes and the problems that came with it. Because it was winter, he didn’t actually many duties, so there wasn’t much he could do wrong.

A master of whisperers had not been chosen. Jeyne simply hadn’t known any adequate choice, so in the end she had simply asked everyone to make mention of all information and rumours of note they heard. Asha had revealed that she had sent her trusted friend Tristifer Botley to lay the groundwork for an information network with the help of sailors, inns and brothels in all the big harbours of Westeros, but it would take years to show if the idea was actually viable.

The council was assembled surprisingly smoothly, and everything seemed to be rather eager in doing a good job. Most obviously wished to prove themselves as the right choice and retain their position of influence after Jon’s return.

The advisors would need her approval for every action they made in their new position, so they wouldn’t misuse Jon’s name out of ambition and greed as so many people had done it the past. In the end, Jeyne also went with every council proposal to Asha to ask for her thoughts which she would then bring up in the next gathering. It had turned out to be a surprisingly functional system, although the cold winter seemed to help a lot.

Most Lords were apparently happy enough to be left alone by their new overlords, so not a lot of problems had appeared. According to Tyrion, one of the main reasons were that Jon had lowered the taxes rather dramatically on the mainland to keep his new subjects happy. Jeyne found it rather vexing. How any of these people dared to think of rebellion against Jon was truly incomprehensible.

There were rising hostilities caused by zealous believers of the Faith, but no blood had yet been shed. According to Lord Tyrion and Ser Harras they happened everywhere in Westeros. The nobles had been instructed to not fan the flames if possible and keep things calm. There wasn’t much else they could do, except removing the most troublesome preachers. Jeyne wasn’t quite sure what happened to them but didn’t want to delve into their fate too deeply.

Asha had made some big strides in her re-education at the end of the second month, wearing pretty dresses every day after the maids had taken all other clothes away and reading a few of the carefully selected books which Jeyne had let brought into her room from the library. It wasn’t like she could do much else to spend her time.

There were all sorts of tomes available to the Ironborn woman, like ‘Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell’ and ‘Justice and Injustice in the North: Judgments of Three Stark Lord’ which would help the Queen in the North immensely when dealing with her new vassals. For some reason, 'The Seven-Pointed Star' had not even been touched in contrast to these heavier works.

There were quite a few books about the Targaryen family too, and some of the library’s studies on the Ironborn. Most Maesters didn’t look very favourable upon the people of the Isles, but that viewpoint also mirrored the common perception of them in the rest of Westeros.

Jeyne also picked out some of the extremely indecent tales which she had found and studied in detail herself. Considering that they frequently moved places, Asha seemed to secretely enjoy them as well. One could only hope that the carnal practices depicted would help the Queen in her marital duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, that Jeyne isn't all there and has psychological issues, born from physical-sexual trauma. Nothing written in this chapter should be taken as gospel.
> 
> Jeyne Westerling is kind off a caricature of "The Perfect Noblewoman" featuring the virtue of self-sacrifice, a lack of greed, jealousy and ambition...
> 
> Some might belittle Asha for deciding to go North, and naming Jeyne as regent, but I think her reasons aren't too bad. I feel that her wish to fight the Others is completely logical for her, and Jeyne is still pretty competent. Because it is winter there is also not much to decide for her. Most people jsut stay inside and keep quiet.


	45. The Bridge of Skulls (Jon XXX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Others attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a few non-explicit sexual scenes.

Castle Black in itself at the end of the King’s Road was a disappointment. Its timbered keeps and stone towers looked like nothing more than a handful of toy blocks scattered on the snow, beneath the vast wall of ice. The ancient stronghold of the black brothers wasn’t really a true castle at all. Lacking walls, it could not be defended from the south, east, or west.

_They only care about the north, with good reason._

Jon was pleasantly surprised when he spied several huts which seemed to be made from freshly cut, lighter wood. Their simple ceilings already covered by the white snow which was still falling.

Countless Northmen, many with the coat-of-arms of House Umbers or various Mountain Clans on their clothes bustled around the keep.

Jon was leading a smaller hosts from Winterfell with just a thousand men. There was not much point in assembling a great one at Winterfell or somewhere else, and smaller groups were able to travel faster.

A man from the Night’s Watch walked to Jon and his group ahorse on the front of their train, behind them the banners of House Stark and House Cerwyn. He turned out to be the one responsible for organizing the men and talked for a few minutes to Uncle Benjen.

After the men had been instructed where to set up their tents, Jon followed his uncle into the armoury where the Lord Commander was apparently inspecting the weapon storages.

“Benjen, it is good to see you again. And it has sure been some time for both of us, King Stark,” he greeted them seriously.

 _Is he always so gruff, or is it the situation?_ Remembering their last meeting three years, it was probably the first alternative.

“ _She_ already expects you at the usual place,” the leader of the Night’s Watch said mysteriously to Benjen. Then the old man turned around to his men behind him. “We are not finished here. We need more hammers and maces. Just melt down these smaller swords and axes…”

“Come, nephew, follow me,” Benjen spoke quickly and Jon followed him outside.

Val spotted them moving in the busy courtyard and quickly joined them into the tunnel through the Wall, guarded by dozens of men, inside and outside

They exited it, Jon becoming more and more curious.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Seeing is believing. I was also asked to not reveal our source of information on how to kill the Others. Apparently, they prefer to be left alone.”

Suddenly, something small appeared a few meters in front of them at the edge of the forest.

“Ah!” Jon exclaimed of fright and jumped back.

_By the Old and the New Gods, what is that!?_

_That_ had nut-brown skin, dappled like a deer's with paler spots. The creature’s two hands had only three fingers and a thumb, with sharp black claws instead of nails. Large ears and gold and green eyes slitted like those of a cat were part to the abomination’s head which was crowned by a tangle of brown, red and gold hair with vines, twigs and withered flowers woven through it.

“Hello,” it spoke in a soft voice. “We have been expecting you.”

Jon felt his shoulder get grasped. “This is Leaf. She’s – “

“A child of the forest!” Val interrupted Benjen’s introduction with an actual squeal.

_Oh!_

On second glance, the thing – Leaf – didn’t look so scary as he had initially thought. Jon quickly tried to remember everything what he had heard about the supposedly magical race which was as legendary as the giants that now lived on his lands. It wasn’t much. They had warred and later made a pact with the First Men and were supposed to be extinct now.

“This is indeed what your kind calls us,” Leaf said simply.

Her face with those big eyes were quite hard to get used to, but Jon tried his best not to flinch again. His first reaction to the small being had already completely embarrassed him.

“I have been sent here by the one you call Brandon, your kin,” the child spoke slowly.

“Bran? He is alive.”

“He is fulfilling his destiny, walking his path, just like we all have been, are, and will.”

Jon was confused, but the cryptic words had to mean that his cousin wasn’t dead as assumed.

“The enemy is numerous. Stay strong in your heart and mind and you shall whether the coming storm as your ancestors have done in the past.”

Then she stepped out of the bushes and almost _glided_ towards them over the snow while dragging something lengthy with one hand behind her which was let go to fall into the snow two meters away from him.

_A sword?_

The scabbard looked completely ragged, clearly worn out by the year. The guard glimmered dimly in the light of the sun, but more was not identifiable because of a grim layer of dirt on the weapon’s revealed part.

“Moons and moons ago, I was also asked to give you this dragonsteel,” the child said while staring directly into Jon’s eyes. It was quite disturbing.

Leaf moved towards Val, touching her midsection lightly and wordlessly presenting a small bag who the spearwife took cautiously with big eyes, as if she was afraid of angering the child of the forest.

“Now, our paths split up again. The songs will remember what happened on this day.”

With her last word the child turned around again, making her cloak of leaves flutter. Then she simply wandered off, back into the Haunted Forest.

_An actual child of the forest…_

Jon still couldn’t quite believe that he had the honour of meeting one in his lifetime.

While Jon had never been very religious, but he did sometimes rest in front of the weirwood of Casterly Rock where felt he could easier think. He had arranged for gardeners to take care of the Stone Garden, and the great white tree there looked now much healthier than back when he and Val had seen it for the first time on the day they had taken the great keep.

The children of the forest had taught the First Men of the Old Gods and were told to have a close relation to them, making Jon question if the child could not have told him about the deities of the North.

“Why didn’t you tell us of her?” Val questioned Benjen moments later, quite agitated clearly. “Now, she’s gone again!”

She was pressing the bag who she had received to her chest as if she was a mother protecting her newborn.

Jon could understand her feelings. He hadn’t even been able to say something either, so short had the meeting been.

Uncle Benjen just shrugged with a tight smile. “She only appeared twice in my presence, and apparently also for the Lord Commander. She told us that she had been sent by Bran and how the Others could only be defeated with dragonglass or Valyrian steel, dragonsteel, and how the song was ending, and similar cryptic phrases.”

Jon picked up the sword and pulled it out. The familiar rippled pattern of Valyrian Steel greeted him, in the usual dark and smoky colour tones. After rubbing most of the dirt off the slim weapon’s hilt, a large red ruby was revealed in the middle of the golden crossguard. A symbol was slightly visible, cut into the jewel. It was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

He gasped. “Dark Sister!”

“Huh, not bad,” his impressed uncle commented after taking a closer look himself.

_The last one who wielded this was… Bloodraven?_

Jon wasn’t completely sure about the history of the blade, but the famous Great Bastard of King Aegon the Unworthy had taken the black for kinslaying which explained why the ancestral weapon of his Father’s House had been Beyond-the-Wall.

“What did you get?” He asked Val who was staring into the skin that she had gotten and put her right hand inside.

The woman ignored him for a while, until she back up at him with a manic grin. Jon had never seen such an expression on her before. She showed him something small dark red which was pressed between her thumb and pointer finger.

“Weirwood seeds! They generally almost never quicken. The child of the forest has clearly given me the task to plant them in the south! Me! The Gods still watch over the Free Folk!”

“Great,” he replied sincerely to his saltwife who was looking like a child that had gotten its favourite sweets.

It was safe to assume that the weirwood trees that were destined to grow from the seeds would surely make the Free Folk much happier in the Westerlands and on the Iron Islands.

Val all of a sudden moved towards him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him back towards the gate in the Wall. Jon looked quickly towards his uncle who just shrugged back.

“Where are we going?” Jon asked while following.

“I can’t stay here for long and I will take the next ship back.”

“Oh, if that is your wish…”

He understood that she really wished to plant the weirwood seeds in the Westerlands. Val had clearly already decided to go, so his input was nothing but an acknowledgment.

Jon suddenly noticed that Val was marching towards a bigger tent that had already been set up. It was the one Jon and Val had occupied in the wild. A bigger command tent would arrive later.

“I ordered your guard to erect it first,” she mentioned before entering.

There was no furniture inside, and still a noticeable snow layer on the ground. Not even the furs that he and Val had used during their trip up the King’s Road.

Jon was just about to ask what they were doing as he felt his legs get swiped away beneath him.

“Ah! What was that for?”

Val looked down at him as if he was a simpleton. “The child of the forest touched my stomach! It blessed my womb – obviously, you fool.”

“Eeeeh…”

_Does it work like that?_

“Stop gawking and pull of those boots and breeches! Maybe we don’t have much time left, so you better pray to the Old Gods that you don’t fail me for once.”

* * *

Lord Commander Mormont and Jon had decided to concentrate the bulk of the troops on Castle Black, the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea for easy support through ships and the King’s Road. The seat of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch turned out to be more impressive than Jon had initially thought after his first look. Beneath the keeps and towers which made up Castle Black, there were a series of subterranean passages called wormwalks which connected all of the buildings. They are rarely used during the summer, but in the winter, this could be the only way to travel to different parts of the castle.

Marching through the ever-falling snow was one of the greatest challenges that they were facing. There was no other choice than to try keep the road at the bottom of the Wall clear as much as possible. Hundreds of men would be freezing to death in the coming months. It was an unavoidable sacrifice.

With the many permanent and temporary reinforcements as a result to the aftermath of the great war in the south, the Night’s Watch had already sent troops to re-garrison all of the abandoned keeps, although many were in an uninhabitable condition still. Almost all of the locations also lacked a usable path, a winch elevator, or stairs to get up and down the Wall, forcing the patrols to start from either the Shadow Tower, Stonedoor, the Nightfort, Castle Black, the Torches and Eastwatch.

Most of the Westermen who had pledged to serve for seven years or until spring were spread from the Shadow Tower to the Nightfort where Ser Daven Lannister was in command. His kin Ser Lucion was in charge of the small nearby Hoarfrost Hill. Jon hoped that the men that would return from their punishment would understand why he had given them the choice to come here.

Jon had suggested to give the bigger Lords their own castles to command until spring, but Lord Commander Mormont turned out to be rather traditional, much to Jon’s displeasure. Historically, not only a few commanders had decided to forgo their oaths for the dreams of a personal seat. The Old Bear, as he was called by his black brothers, insisted therefore that only men of Night’s Watch, even those who had used slightly abbreviated words to swear themselves to the ancient orders could rule one of the garrisons in fear of greedy and desperate noblemen without a promised inheritance.

Ironically, Jon himself was still the nominal ruler of Westwatch, although he had put Lenn Pyke as castellan in charge of it before he had left after the news of his uncle’s death and Asha’s plans for a Kingsmoot.

* * *

_Your honourable Majesty,_

_Asha has appointed me as regent of Casterly Rock and temporary ruler of the entire Westerlands. Ser Harras Harlaw is the new castellan of the Rock with Lord Rodrik Harlaw in charge of all issues that concern the entire realm._

_Shortly afterwards I discovered Asha’s most shameful plot to hide and disobey your orders that she shall remain behind to rule._

_This behaviour is unacceptable for someone in her position as the Queen Consort to Your Grace. Therefore, I have been forced to take Asha secretly into custody and teach her how to act befitting of her role. Only few guards and servants know of their Queen’s presence. Everyone believes Asha to be at the Wall._

_I am absolutely convinced that when Your Grace returns victoriously, Your Grace shall be fortunately surprised by the new Queen in the West and the North who shall serve her husband, House and people with fervour and diligence. Her Grace shall be most royal and deserving of her title and Your Grace’s affections._

_A lowly mistress who longs for her King every day,_

_Jeyne_

_Your Grace’s royal seed has taken hold in my womb again._

* * *

_By the Seven Hells…_

Jon didn’t know how to react to Jeyne’s letter which he had received from Earl Harlaw who led the crew of the _Black Wind_ when Asha wasn’t present.

_I need to sit down to contemplate this shit._

After marching swiftly away from the Shadow Tower south-westwards, he crossed the Bridge of Skulls without a word to anyone. Finally, back in his old and current quarters of Westwatch, he tried to understand what was happening in the Rock.

The last line, that Jeyne was with child, was obviously a most positive take away. He considered for a few moments if she had intentionally ended the message with those news to soothe his reaction to her inappropriate actions.

_Did I miss Jeyne manipulating me?_

Jon wouldn’t be the first man to be controlled by a woman taken to bed, but he couldn’t imagine himself as this blind.

The Westerling had never been much more than a permanently willing physical outlet for Jon’s lusts and a competent caretaker for his children in his mind. Her ability to fulfil her new duties to the Westermen had yet to be put to the test, although he remembered Asha praising her household management. The noblewoman was at least much more intelligent than he had believed until now.

The fact that Asha wanted to fight with him versus the Others wasn’t very surprising and he had somewhat expected the move. That she was now neither ruling the Westerlands nor helping him at the Wall was obviously unfortunate and a waste of her skills.

With Renly sailing for Eastwatch the Kingdom shouldn’t be under too much threat. Disregarding the season, the Stormking would be more or less surrounded by Jon’s men, so it was incredibly risky to try anything now. Queen Margaery was still not with child as far as he knew, leaving Shireen as the only potential heiress currently available. It was honestly a bit baffling that the now ruling Princess Arianne Martell had given up the betrothal of her youngest brother to the Crown Princess in favour of practically already established autonomy.

With Ser Harras and Rodrik present, he doubted that Jeyne would be able to make a lot of issues. Maybe the gentle nature she had shown in the past could even help.

In the end it was the best if he wrote Rodrik to be extra attentive and check all of Jeyne’s actions.

Towards Asha’s detention he felt mostly dread. She was likely completely furious with her junior wife. An understandable reaction, and Jon would react similarly. He couldn’t let his wife and his Queen remain in captivity. Asha would rightfully take it as a betrayal. Jon had sworn to protect her from harm, and this would definitely harm her if it hadn’t already.

_I can either ask her to come northwards or to stay at the Rock as originally intended._

Asha obviously wanted to fight against the wights, so bidding her to come was the most unproblematic way.

If Asha actually stayed at the Rock, he would have normally sent Jeyne away, back home to the Crag maybe, or to her uncle at Clegane Keep. He doubted that their relationship could be fixed with his written words. A similar decision had caused already one of his woman to miscarry however, so this wasn’t a viable option for him.

In the end, he decided to go with the middle ground. He wrote a letter to both of his women, although they differed quite a lot. He didn’t wish to reprimand the pregnant Jeyne too severely, so that one had become rather lyrical. Asha’s message was a lot more decisive.

* * *

_My lovely Jeyne,_

_The fact that you try to make all, regardless of their station, act in accordance to my wishes warms my heart in the freezing temperatures that I have to endure up here at the Wall on night and day._

_The truth is, nevertheless, Asha is still my Queen and my most senior and rock wife. Therefore, I have to ask you to let her go._

_When I meet her again, I will punish her personally and most harshly for her disloyalty, so she never shall go against my orders again._

_I cannot await to see the babe I left you with my own eyes at home. My thoughts are ever returning to it and his beautiful, strong-willed mother. If the Gods will it, Lyarra and Edwyn shall receive many more full-blooded siblings in the coming years._

_Your husband,_

_Jon_

* * *

_Asha,_

_I have instructed Jeyne to let you free._

_You attempted to directly disobey me, and this angers me. I am certain that when my words arrive you are already ruing your decision to come north and ignore my explicit instructions to remain at the Rock and rule our Kingdom. I can understand your reasoning, however, and I know your character. The temptation to fight against the evil Beyond-the-Wall is surely hard to ignore._

_While Jeyne clearly overreached, she isn’t wrong. Get your act together from now on, and act as a true Queen who I can depend on. Otherwise I really have to consider replacing you with a more competent noblewoman._

_It is your own decision what you will do from now on. You can either stay at the Rock as I wished, or you can come up here to at least visit me. Until now, nothing important happened. It is basically only cold and gloomy._

_The second option is only acceptable if you judge Jeyne or whoever else you put into charge to be a competent regent during your absence._

_Jeyne’s punishment for her actions will be done by myself when I return. Considering her condition, she will definitely remain at the Rock until the arrival of spring._

_I don’t want any rumours about the events which have occurred. Public gossip about competition between you and Jeyne only weakens us two and our children. Make absolutely sure of that._

_Your husband,_

_Jon Stark,_

_The King in the West and the North_

* * *

He had always considered Asha a pretty woman, but this was even better than in his dreams.

His Queen stood before him in the snow inside the camp behind the Bridge of Skulls, dressed in a heavy black mantel. It was open towards the front, showing off her long black dress with dark red three-headed dragons and Jon’s white wolf on the bottom half. Her black hair now reached below her shoulders and was graced by a combined circlet of one iron and one silver ring.

Asha’s eyes met his for a moment before seeking the ground submissively when she stretched out her hand with the back up towards him.

“Your Grace.”

Jon had done this enough times to instinctively make a step forward, take her rather cold hand and bow for a light kiss on it.

“My Queen.”

He took her arm gently and led her under the eyes of many onlookers over the bridge inside Westwatch.

“Val?” Asha asked simply when they entered the tower with the room at the top which they had occupied together in the past.

“She left already moons ago, after taking on some personal mission.”

When he turned back around from closing the door he was not greeted by a glare or a nearing fist as he had expected. Instead Asha had dropped her Mantle to the side and swiftly pulled off her boots and socks. With wide eyes Jon took her form in as his wife went towards the bed where she laid down on her back with her feet to him. After making it herself comfortable she spread her legs and lifted the dress up, so he could glimpse her bare long legs and white underwear beneath.

“Asha?” Jon asked in confusion.

“It’s very cold up here,” he heard her soft voice. “Would His Grace deign to warm me?”

There was no thinking evolved. Swiftly freeing himself of his shoe work, breeches and underwear while moving toward the awaiting woman. He pushed her elaborate dress up her legs, pulled off the last piece of clothing in his way before entering.

“Ah! Jon!” Asha moaned while he rutted into her in a fast pace. “Is this how a Queen should behave towards her King?”

“Aye, exactly like this.”

“Then… please… have this royal cunt… Your Grace!”

He did have it thoroughly, in the end filling her womb twice with his seed. Jon didn’t care at all that it wouldn’t quicken. Asha was his, all of her.

Afterwards when he lay in her arms, he couldn’t question his wife’s behaviour.

“What was that all about?”

“Hmmm…” Asha smiled lightly towards him. “I simply wanted to show that I have understood and accepted my place.”

“Oh, really? Guess I will have to thank Jeyne for her good work.”

That got him a short sharp glare. It seemed the Ironborn couldn’t keep up the act for too long. Her behaviour and clothing however at least implied a small change in priorities. She certainly had never been so… _actively submissive_ to him.

“It is truly cold, although I wanted to apologize to you,” Asha conceded slowly.

“And the act outside?”

“I realized that it would be better to appear a bit more… sublime to our new subjects.”

_Interesting. Maybe Jeyne was not as off as I thought her to be._

The Asha he had left almost five months ago had shown completely different colours. Until now, he had yet to notice any negative sides of her change in character.

“Who did you leave in charge of the Westerlands? Still Jeyne, despite her actions?”

He heard that there had been a council created which he had avoided until it was necessary and got a better picture from most of the higher nobles in the Westerlands.

“Aye, she is doing a surprisingly good job, so I simply let her be for now.”

The fact that Jeyne lived, apparently unharmed, was a simple, but important take away. Jon did have some imaginations where he had become part-widower.

“Jeyne leads the household of the Rock with Ser Harras as castellan, and Uncle Rodrik is regent for the entire realm…” the Ironborn elaborated. “All of the important nobles raised at least token forces for us. I brought the children to Pyke for safety as well and waited with my departure until I got the confirmation that Renly had left King’s Landing northwards.”

The fact that his children were at Pyke removed at least some of Jon’s worries. Renly Baratheon had already landed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with a few thousand troops and supplies which made any move from him or the Tyrells unlikely.

Then Asha told him of all the appointments to the council, including the late one of Tristifer Botley as Master of Whisperers by Asha alone, and the few issues that had appeared. There wasn’t much Jon disagreed with, and nothing warranted his own intervention. Jon still made the resolution to send a few more instructions that might be helpful in the long run.

“The weather has hindered many news of arriving here,” Jon said. “What do you know is happening in the rest of Westeros?”

“Hmmm, Renly of course made the trip with soldiers of the crownlands and the Tyrells. I am not sure if many Lords of the Reach will make the long journey up here. I didn’t pick up anything like that.”

Jon nodded, this was what he knew as well, although he still hoped for the support of House Hightower of Oldtown at least who were known to be very pious. The long time that had passed made it more and more unlikely though.

“We received sparse news about conflict in the Vale,” Asha continued. “A rebellion of the smallfolk led by the faith or something similar. I would guess that the wight might have sparked the conflict. I don’t know much. In the end there is also chaos in the eastern Riverlands. The Freys have split up into many camps with different pretenders and Edmure is now supposedly trying to stabilize the situation. He doesn’t seem very successful and bandits are apparently roaming all over the place.”

Jon knew about the problems of the Vale somewhat. Cotter Pyke, the commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had apparently been rushed and killed by a panicked mob in Gulltown after showcasing the wight. Lord Commander Mormont had appointed Uncle Benjen as the Ironborn’s successor, although he lacked naval knowledge and experience. With Renly at Eastwatch the Watch needed a loyal man there in charge. If his kinship to Jon was a blessing or a curse for Benjen was uncertain yet.

That the latter conflict was still going on so strong worried him. He just hoped that Edmure had the strength to quell the violence before it could spread. Lord Walder Frey’s many descendants had intermarried with a significant number of knightly and noble Houses from the Riverlands and beyond, and surely many of them were now vying for the Lordship of the Twins. The Crossing controlled a very important land-passage for the trade of the North with the River- and north-eastern Westerlands, so Jon was very interested that it would end up in the hands of a man without malicious intentions towards him and his realm.

Lord Emmon Frey was still at the Rock, and under the heel of his wife. As Lord Walder’s second son he was in a good spot, and an even better one with Jon’s backing, although he mainly kept Gemma Lannister loyal to with the threat to her children. Lord Walder’s fourth wife had been from House Blackwood, so one of her descendants was probably the most favourable choice for North.

Lord Tytos Blackwood should have arrived as one of Jon’s summoned bannermen, but the man had only sent a small force led by his heir because of the danger brewing around him. Considering his isolated position, Jon could and would not find fault in his decision.

“Anything else of note? Did you fulfil my last orders in the letter?” Jon asked.

“Aye,” Asha responded coldly. “I gave the common maids to the cave dwellers to deal with. The head maid Briony I only threatened with Joy and made sure that she wouldn’t tell Jeyne anything about the disappearance of everyone else. The men that weren’t deeply involved with my situation I took with me. They will take the black after the war. Jeyne didn’t tell them who they guarded.”

“And the other men?”

Jon couldn’t believe that Asha was _that_ lenient with her actual captors. That she had spared the head stewardess was already surprising.

“Those who defied me directly have been given to the Drowned God from one of the higher windows in the Rock.”

“I guess that should do it. How angry are you with Jeyne still?”

Asha didn’t react outwardly to the question which he considered a good sign.

“She didn’t do it maliciously,” she eventually told him. “So, I would like to forgive her. Nevertheless, she blackmailed me by using Serra and Quellon as leverage.”

Jon gasped in shock. This was rotten, especially from the mother of two or more of Asha’s children’s half-siblings.

“She threatened to keep them away from me several times if I did not comply with her _lessons_.”

“When I am finished with her, she shall never dare to look into your eyes again,” Jon promised with absolute sincerity.

Asha lightly stroked though his hair. “How often have you spoken with her, Jon? And not to discuss a certain topic, but to learn her character.”

Jon tried to remember what the two of them did together alone. Either he fucked her, or they talked about his children.

“She loves me more than anyone except her twins and the newest babe,” was his lame verdict.

Asha didn’t seem impressed. “I am not even sure about the last part. Jeyne is simpler than my crewmen who only think about fighting, fucking, and drinking. She basically worships you as a god. If you die, she will be as bad as or even worse than my mother.”

_Huh…_

“I already knew how we get the point across without any lasting pain to her body or broken mind,” Asha spoke with widening smirk.

“We?”

“Aye, it will be at least the both of us.”

“Will I have to do anything?”

“Nothing except letting me do what Jeyne is permanently dreaming about…”

Her sensual tone implied a pleasurable experience. It also reminded Jon that his half-naked wife was laying next to him his bed.

“Maybe, you could show me what you plan,” he suggested while moving his hands under Asha’s dress. “So, I can judge your idea’s viability…”

After the Ironborn had pulled the font of her lower reaching clothes up to her hips again, spread her legs and closed her eyes, Jon heaved himself back into their previous, going for another round. Asha was noticeably more subdued compared to their first time, not making much sounds except occasional small gasps and moans when he hit a few sensitive deep spots. It was enjoyable for him, nevertheless, and didn’t wish to stop after he came inside her for the third time of the day, so he didn’t.

“I feel like Serra and Quellon will have two dozen half-siblings by next winter, if you keep this up,” Asha said dryly into the room after he had collapsed directly on her smaller form.

“Val is probably with child already,” Jon said lazily. “She was very adamant about conceiving one directly before her departure. Oh, and I like you in a dress. You should wear them more often.”

“Hm, Jeyne let it be made for me, and I have brought a few others with me as well. She also changed the banners at the Rock. Am I Queen Asha Targaryen now?” Asha asked. “I am tired of changing my House name again and again...”

Jon shook his head and ignored that his main wife still signed most documents with ‘Greyjoy’.

“No, not in the North at least. Officially, I am King Jon Stark, the Sixth, up here. And until we declare otherwise, I am King Jon Stark, the First, on the Iron Islands and in the Westerlands. Who knows how the Targaryen loyalists will react to my claim of being Rhaegar’s son? I might take a Targaryen titular name, if convenient. Aegon would be obvious choice, but it is obviously off the table, so I am thinking about Jaehaerys, because it is similar to Jon, and the Councillor was always on of my biggest idols, or Aemon because there has never been a King Aemon before…”

Apparently, the former Maester of Castle Black who had sadly died just over a year years ago had been his grand-grand-grand-uncle and named Aemon Targaryen as well. Considering he had lived for over one hundred years and fulfilled his duty without murmuring, Jon had been quite impressed by the tales from a fat Reachman called Samwell Tarly who was his replacement, although he hadn’t been able to become a real Maester in Oldtown with chain and vow, because of the Others’ threat yet.

Jon was convinced that both the North and West combined were able to hold the Wall easily. The structure had been built for exactly this purpose and they soon had as much men as the Night’s Watch in its prime.

“I am still unsure how we can even rule both the North and the West, so that will take precedent after we secure the Wall,” Jon whispered, rapt in thought.

In general, ruling two Kingdoms would be a true challenge. He didn’t actually have a concrete plan for the future. Should he combine the crowns into one? The Northmen would be angered with that. As an alternative he could let them be inherited together by one of his children or split them up.

After enjoying Asha’s form under him and her light caresses for some minutes, Jon remembered, something odd she had said.

“What did you say about the banners?”

“It was Tyrion’s idea,” Asha responded. “Apparently, the Qartheen believe that dragons were hatched from a second moon that came too close to the sun and cracked. Therefore, the moon was replaced with the Targaryen symbol. The Imp sure has a big head to remember so much useless tales.”

_Sounds stupid._

Jon didn’t have better idea however, and the composition still made it clear that he was predominantly a Stark. This would do for now.

“When will they strike?” Asha asked quietly, after starting to caress his back with both or her hands. “I wish to fight them too.”

“Hmmm…”

_I guess, I don’t have a choice._

Suddenly, the left side of his lips got smooched. Asha had actually kissed him, something they generally never did.

“Please,” she said between kissing him all over his face. “You promised me.”

“Aye.”

“I won’t disobey if you wish my leave…”

_Really?_

Jon loved Asha’s new submissiveness to him, but he stood to his words, considering that the West seemed to be in good hands.

“No, if you want then you can remain here. I don’t say anything about battle though, alright?”

“Thank you, husband.” Asha graced him with a smile and did not resist when he shoved his tongue inside her mouth.

* * *

Two months since Asha’s arrival, Jon sat in his old room in the Lord’s Tower of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. The keep manned by only two hundred of his soldiers, mostly from the North and the Westerlands, although a large camp existed on the other side of the bridge with hundreds more.

Under his black thick cloak, he was dressed in a beautiful black and white-enamelled plate armour which Asha had gifted him for his last name day and brought with her. The howling white wolf depicted on his coat-of-arms had been painted on the front while the dark red Targaryen dragon had been put on his shoulder guards. Plate armour was worn by most soldiers at Westwatch. It would be the most useful against the weak weapons of rusted metal, stone and wood, teeth, hands, and claws of the moving corpses.

Asha was wielding his former sword Oathkeeper currently while Jon himself was carrying Dark Sister on his side. The latter one had been given to him by a true child of the forest after all.

Westwatch was a logical point to attack for the Others, so Jon expected them to be targeted first. Jon didn’t know how smart their enemy was, but it seemed like they weren’t able to traverse the sea for some reason. Maybe the hadn’t advanced so far technologically because they weren’t intelligent enough or magic stopped them. Jon was however convinced that they were able to pass over normal water streams like the Milkwater, how else would they pass through the Lands-beyond-the-Wall if they didn’t walk over the countless, possibly frozen, creeks. Following this the Bridge of Skull, the only walkway over the Gorge was a clear goal to take for them that would allow the Others to completely ignore the Wall.

It was generally agreed upon that Westwatch was one of the youngest keeps of the Night’s Watch, so it likely had been built after the War for the Dawn.

Nothing of note had happened on the western side of the Wall since he had made the way here from Castle Black. More and more ships landed on the nearby shore of the Bay of Ice and the Milkwater, but that was mostly it.

A few scouting parties had made their way Beyond-the-Wall, made up mostly from those who were still doubting the threat. Half of them had come back without issue, the other half generally didn’t return at all, only a few stragglers were lucky enough to survive and tell the tale of the wights they had encountered. Jon didn’t doubt that they had deserted after the first contact but decided not to execute them out of pragmatism.

At least the food supply for their army of ten thousands of men, distributed from one side of Westeros to the other, turned out to be less of a problem than initially thought. A mass of animals had fled southwards because the apparent horde of wights they were about to face, and their accomplished bowman couldn’t shoot as fast as new wild appeared initially. In the end Jon had ordered to try leading the non-predatory animals south over the Bridge of Skulls and through the unsealed gates in the Wall. They could not only feed their army, including the one at the abandoned keeps of the Watch, and the northern parts of the Kingdom through winter. The main reason had however been the revelation that animal corpses could be raised as wights as well. Considering the size and attributes of some of the bigger races, the decision would spare them a lot of foes.

Jon skinchanged into Blueberry for another time and flew northwards from the still unnamed northern tower. Soon, he made out a dark cloud in the twilight of the evening that became bigger and bigger. Moments later he saw the trees rustling and ever louder continuous noise.

_That’s them._

He quickly turned sharply around before finding his own body. After he opened his eye, Jon rushed out of his room.

“On the walls! They are coming! Everyone! Get your gear and move on the walls!” he yelled once he was out in the courtyard. “Also light the torches!”

The commands were repeated by countless others, and after a few minutes around two hundred men stood in silence on the embankment. All soldiers were staring tensely into the large plain before them where once countless trees had stood. The ground was mostly covered by thick layer of snow that would reach Jon at least to the chest, but many deep rills had been dug into the snow over the last weeks to hinder their enemies. According to the few eyewitnesses, wights were both slow and clumsy and would therefore surely fall for the easiest traps.

After a few minutes the first were starting to become a bit restless and more and more whispering began.

Then they heard the noise, combined with high shrieks, which Jon had already perceived through bird ears.

Jon was starting to panic a bit. The dark cloud what seemed to be dead birds had startled him. Considering the blood clumps that the raised human corpses suffered, he hadn’t believed winged wights to be able to fly well and threaten them seriously. They didn’t have anything to combat them effectively.

Suddenly they appeared over the trees. Countless ravens, crows, owls, and other species of all colours flew first over the plain and then the walls. Jon instantly felt relieved when he noticed that none of them showed blue gleaming eyes. Quite a few sat down all over the place before getting shooed away while others made their way over the canyon.

Then yells could be heard. Out of the trees a mass of wight in all shapes, sizes, and conditions exited and walked towards them, disturbingly slow and completely silent.

The plan was simple, see if they could defend the walls, and if not retreat orderly over the Bridge of Skulls. This battle would give them crucial information about their foes.

“Archers!” Lord Glover yelled. “Light your arrows and shoot at will.”

Moments later the first orange streaks flew through the darkening sky and hit the wights at the front. Not only did they burn fabulously, as expected, but the ignited raised corpses suddenly started running around wildly, setting countless others aflame as well.

“Is this really it?” A female voice spoke up to his side.

_What!_

“Why are you here, Asha?” Jon exclaimed enraged. “Go back on the other side.”

“I just wanted to see how it goes,” she spoke. “I am rather disappointed to be honest. I expected something… more predatory.”

Jon wanted to insist his wife to return to safety, but he had to agree with her. So many of corpses had already burned and many other fell into the rills.

They were advancing however, albeit in a slow manner. Most of the men on the walls were only equipped with melee weapons, so there weren’t enough arrows hitting the spread-out mass of enemies. This had to be changed for future clashes.

Eventually, after maybe five hundred wights had already been destroyed, the first one arrived at the bottom of the wall to ‘die’ immediately. Over the next minutes the remnant of corpses started to stack up before the north-western wall. The wights were clearly building a rampart for those after them, showing that they weren’t completely without a tactic.

_Someone has to be controlling them from the back. That would be one or more of the Others._

Jon had already stood there with Asha beside him on the inner side of the six metres wide wall for quite some time. Lady Maege was the first to slay a wight in melee range by bashing its head with her mace. Many other men had traded sword or spear for a more heavy-hitting weapon to crush their enemies to dust, so they wouldn’t be able to stand up again.

The wights couldn’t land much of a scratch on the shield wall that was equipped with massive square shields of metal and commanded by the Greatjon, standing next to his son, the Smalljon, and uncle, called Mors Crowfood. House Umber had insisted on being the first in the line, and Jon had relented. The Umbers hadn’t been very happy by him being chosen over a living son of the respected Lord Eddard Stark, so this was an easy attempt to smooth relations.

“I hate this,” he heard a nagging voice from his side. “I am feeling like I am slowly becoming an ice statue.

“Go back to the tent then.”

“I want hit some of these things too. Let’s go to the front.”

Jon turned to Asha, dressed in form fitting, black iron plate. It had been created to pair well with his own, although the combat efficiency of the skirt that she wore over her leather breeches was arguable.

“We are the King and Queen. There’s no need for us to intervene and risk injury.”

“I would not call this _risky_. These things have no skill! They are barely able to chain more than a handful movements together.”

She spoke true. The wights basically on fought on instincts, and according to reports and his own observations they lacked both strength and agility compared to their living counterparts. He had actually yet to see a shield man get severely injured.

“Good, we can kill a few before coming back. That will be good for morale.”

He gestured to protectors to accompany them and moved forwards.

The royal guard made short process with everyone who swarmed them, only letting through rather harmless stragglers.

The first weight that appeared before Jon was a small human, a child, half-rotten with only one blue-glowing eye, and without a weapon. It jumped at him and Jon quickly swiped his blade to take its head before it could reach him. He killed a few more wolves and other unidentifiable creature with four legs in terrible condition afterwards as well, before getting back again.

The wall defence wasn’t really a battle that made your blood flow. Concentration and focus were the key to not make a fatal mistake in the procedural defensive battle. It was cold and their enemies stayed mostly silent, only making high shrieks when they were pouncing forward, or getting hit hard. Jon assumed they did it on instinct. It wasn’t like the wights needed to breathe.

Asha stayed, and his look was focused on her cutting off a few heads and limbs that were soon after thrown back over the wall by men, fully equipped in plate armour. They couldn’t risk getting hindered by moving appendages.

Oathkeeper, as a longsword, didn’t really fit to his wife’s proficiency with one-handed axes, but it was still a Valyrian steel blade that was destined to be given down their line. The additional reach and its lightness compared to her old weapons helped versus the slower foes as well.

Men’s yells, the clash of metal and the stomping of feet filled the air.

Suddenly, a man screamed from pain.

“Arrows!”

_Bowmen?_

Those required more advanced motion control. A few more of them flew towards the walls, but it was soon clear that they weren’t actually targeted. A few unlucky soldiers were hit regardless.

“Call the Queen back,” he told one of his guards.

Surprisingly, Asha complied after only a short moment of hesitation. She apparently understood that there was no point in risking injury or death against the enemy.

“The wight-archers are definitely easily targetable from this position,” she spoke seriously. “We should send a few of them forwards.”

Jon agreed with her. “Aye! Go to Lord Glover in the back. I doubt that the wights can produce new arrows though, so when they have shot all of theirs, they will become useless.”

The ramp of crushed corpses grew higher and higher up the walls, and when the first wights jumped straight over the first row of defenders, Jon called for the slow retreat over the Bridge of Skulls. Drums sounded to signal everyone what was happening.

Fortunately, they had trained this several times and no great issues occurred. Eventually, everyone left alive stood at the other side of the bridge behind the former guard post of the Night’s Watch and the same game started again, waves of wights trotting to them over the walkway that spanned the deep canyon.

Jon and Asha stood on top of the stone gate which had replaced the wooden one. Snow started to fall. Thankfully, they had built braziers with small roofs to light the night and their archers’ arrows in consideration of the Other’s rumoured weather manipulation powers.

The Bridge of Skulls was so small, and their enemies so slow, Jon ordered to open the gates and rotated the groups of men to kill their enemies on the bridge itself. A few times a bigger animal appeared and rushed towards them, but those were quickly put aflame, the moment they were blocked by the steadfast shield wall.

When the night was nearing its end, the tide of enemies stopped, and silence fell again.

Then something glowed whitely from the top of the Bridge Gate of the fallen Westwatch, clearly visible in the dark night. Murmuring broke out among those who could take the sight in.

_An Other. An actual one…_

It was tall and gaunt, with skin pale as milk and armour almost pulsing. There seemed to be a long blade of white glass held in the being’s hand, possibly made from ice. The Other made a mesmerizing sight.

“Special archers!” Jon yelled into the direction of Harren the Hunter and his chosen bowmen. “Target that monster with your dragonglass arrows!”

Shortly he could hear the sound of a dozen prepared wooden shafts with one small, sharp dragonglass shards attached to their front each flying over the Gorge. Before they could reach the target however, the Other vanished into the dark.

Afterward nothing happened for minutes.

“What now?” Asha asked. “I don’t think they will come back soon.”

“We blow the bridge up. I don’t see a reason to continue this.”

A minute later everyone had retreated. A small troop of men marched cautiously to the middle of the bridge, kicking, shoving, and dragging most corpses to the side. It turned out that a few weren’t as dead as they appeared. Something, Lord Commander Mormont had already warned them about. A chest was then carried onto the walkway, and ampule, filled with a characteristic green fluid, were positioned over twenty meters.

After everyone had removed themselves from the planned explosion radius, Jon gave the command.

“Fire!”

Several of the wildfire caches, both the bridge and those that had already been planted on the two large pillars and the arches connecting them were hit.

A gigantic green flame ball blinded all who hadn’t closed their eyes in time, and a large boom shook both air and the ground. With loud noises the Bridge of Skulls collapsed, boulders of stones crashing into the Milkwater below.

“I expected an epic battle, like in the stories,” Asha grumbled. “This wasn’t even close to that.”

Jon just shrugged. Their losses were laughable to the amount of wights they had burned and crushed.

“Well, we now know that there is a reason the Wall was built so ridiculously high. Half of the men will remain here under Ser Denys Mallister. We are going to distribute the other half along the Wall because of what they have now seen and experienced.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is possibly the longest chapter in the story yet, so I have to say something to avoid foreseeable comments.  
>   
> "Asha is OOC!"
> 
> Somewhat intended, she obviously experienced character developement, but what we see is only her outward actions from Jon's extremly biased and unreliable POV.  
>   
>   
> "What is Jon's Targaryen name?!?! I hope it is not Aegon!!!"
> 
> Why should Jon have a given Targaryen name?  
> Why should Jon have a given Targaryen name????
> 
> Rhaegar died before Jon's birth, and Lyanna shortly afterwards. GRRM implies that Jon was named by Ned.  
> There is no reason to assume that Lyanna named him before her death or that Rhaegar and she agreed on a name for a boy and wrote it down somewhere. Considering Rhaegar's prophecy obsession, I think it is pretty obvious, the name would have been Visenya if Jon would have been a girl, but for a boy... In my headcanon Rhaegar likely didn't even consider that seriously.  
> So, Jon can choose his own, just as done IRL.  
>   
>   
> "REEEE! The Others/Wights are too weak!!!"  
>   
> Because I think they are. I can't accept them as a legitimate threat, but they likely will be because of their massive plot armor that is worse than any one else's in the entire story - book and show.  
>   
> The moment Jeor Mormont activates his brain after GETTING ATTACKED BY TWO CLEARLY DEAD BODYS WITH BLUE FUCKING GLOWING EYES and NOT MARCH INTO THE FUCKING WILDNESS TO LOOK FOR THE WILDINGS and actually prepares the Watch seriously, collaborating with small and great noble houses, it is basically game over for the Others.  
>   
> The Others aren't dumb, so the moment they realize they are against dragonglass arrows, they are like ultra fucked in my opinion. One hit and they go 'poof'.  
> The wights are also not a rushing zombie horde like in the show, but actually "slow and clumsy". They have literally nothing but numbers.  
>   
> You have also heared of THAT IDIOTICLY UNREALISTICLY BIG FUCKING WALL OUT OF ICE?????  
> How, about it actually... doesn't collapse and JUST STANDS THERE DOING ITS JOB - NOT COLLAPSING because of some mind-controlled ice-dragon corpse that should never be a thing or a ridiculous super-duper horn. The Wall stood for thousands of years, why should the Others pull the Horn of Winter out of their asses now???  
>   
>  **Thoughts and criticism appreciated, including pointing out grammar mistakes.**


	46. Two Lines (Jon XXXI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon negotiates at Castle Black

The mood was tense in the gloomy Great Hall of Castle Black that Jon had just entered. A long, plain table of dark wood stood in the centre of the hall.

King Renly Baratheon sat on a great chair behind the table on the right. Next to him sat a few of his principal bannermen and behind the group stood four of the Kingsguard in a line.

There had been a greater attack on Eastwatch under the command of Renly a few months ago. It been defeated rather easily though with a great amount of wildfire being flung from the top of the Wall, burning masses of wights.

Since then, the patrols on the Wall had spotted many risen dead moving towards Castle Black where the Others would apparently try to make their final push. This was the reason the main host was currently stationed here, although the entire Wall was being patrolled from one end to the other.

Jon went to the unoccupied side of the table and simple seated himself on the basic bench behind it. The fact that there weren’t chairs for them prepared was a hilarious insult. He was flanked by Lord Baelor Blacktyde to his left and Ser Raynald Westerling, Jeyne’s older brother, to his right. Dacey Mormont had asked to join his personal guard during his time at the Wall and was walking behind him. Apparently, she didn’t have much trust in the North’s new allies.

Asha had been left in charge at the western end of the Wall to care for the newly arriving troops and supplies. She was supported by Lady Maege of Bear Island and Lord Glover of Deepwood Motte, both seats being the closest to the Shadow Tower. Asha wasn’t too keen on battle anymore after the loss of Westwatch and had even volunteered for the job.

“Pretender,” someone whispered, just loud enough for all to hear. Jon believed that the voice belonged to the man on the far left of Renly’s retinue. The green turtle on his chest revealed him to be an Estermont, the House of Renly’s mother.

“Pretender? What am I pretending to be?” Jon asked back in a light tone.

“All of Westeros knows of your lie by now,” the frowning Lord Commander Loras Tyrell replied coldly. “You claim to be Prince Rhaegar’s trueborn son and heir, Snow. Truly, bastards have no honour. You already stole the rightful crown of your trueborn brother.”

“I have proof for my lineage though. Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch witnessed my birth at the Tower of Joy in Dorne. I have already sent a ship with a messenger southwards to the Hightower and Starfall. I am sure House Hightower and Dayne will be eager to reclaim the bones of their fallen heroes, the White Bull and the latest Sword of the Morning.”

Sadly, his uncle had decided to burn the tower to the ground after destroying everything inside it. According to Lord Howland, Lord Eddard Stark had tried to protect him as best as possible and didn’t wish to risk bringing any memorabilia northwards. If Lord Howland’s directions were accurate, they would still be able to find the graves of the three slain Kingsguard that had been protecting the pregnant Lyanna.

“A frog-eater,” Renly jested after a short silence and many of his retinue laughed, as if on command.

_What a bunch of lickspittles._

Jon stayed calm. “Your opinion doesn’t matter to me, King Renly, those of your vassals do. And if they choose to believe me and decide to rather serve a Targaryen than you, that is merely your own fault for not inspiring enough loyalty. It’s that simple.”

“Simple?!” Ser Loras yelled. “This means war!”

“War? Are you allying with the Others?”

Renly smiled. “Obviously not,” he tried to placate. “We are all united these days, against the evil from Beyond-the-Wall.”

Jon stood up with a non-threatening gesture, drew his sword and laid it on the table before him, so all could take it in.

“I was given Dark Sister for a reason. I do not wield it for show.”

Jon had made up the tale that the dead Maester of Castle Black Aemon Targaryen had instructed his assistant Samwell Tarly to give it to him the ancestral blade, after the old man himself had received it from Bloodraven before the Great Bastard’s mysterious disappearance on a ranging beyond the Wall. He didn’t want to reveal the children of the forest. Not only, was it an unbelievable tale, the small race seemingly also wanted to be left alone.

“A blade doesn’t prove anything,” Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill, the father of the fat Samwell Tarly and an accomplished military commander, spoke calmly. “Daemon Blackfyre was another bastard who wielded an ancestral blade of House Targaryen and tried to steal the Iron Throne.”

“Then we are lucky, that there is no Iron Throne anymore, no?”

“The Targaryens can still claim the rule over all of Westeros,” Lord Tarly replied sternly.

Jon just smiled. “If that’s your interpretation… I do not have the plans to conquer the entire continent as my ancestor Aegon did.”

Naturally, he had thought about it quite a few times, and Asha seemed rather interested by the idea. Sadly, he lacked the dragon necessary to back up such a massive campaign.

A nameless man claiming to have been sent by Lord Monford Velaryon had arrived from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea a few days ago and notified him that House Velaryon was ‘very interested in close cooperation of their two families’. Without a doubt, other former Targaryen loyalists would consider switching allegiance as well. Most of the Houses that would contemplate switching sides in Jon’s opinion were located in the Crownlands or the southern Riverlands, the vast majority of them under the direct rule of King’s Landing.

It was almost inevitable that there would be another military conflict the moment they had secured the northern border of the human realm against the Others.

_Let’s see when Varys is going to contact me._

No matter who the eunuch and Magister Illyrio backed, Jon was confident that he was in a prime position to receive the pledges of many nobles before the war could even start. If the Baratheon-Tyrell alliance could be broken there was even the realistic possibility of a few Houses of the Reach switching sides to him.

From Jon’s perspective Edmure was slowly turning into more of a burden than a reliable source of support.

The King of the Trident had not even acknowledged the events that were currently happening at the Wall, but with Robb’s death and Jon’s subsequent inheritance of the North, the alliance between the new main branch of House Stark and House Tully wasn’t bound together by significant blood ties anymore. Without a doubt Edmure wouldn’t hesitate to back his nephew Rickon as the true King in the North over Jon himself, so taking all of the Riverlands to connect the Westerlands and the North per land route together and control the entirety of the Trident was extremely attractive.

The alliance of the four crowns was destined to end if it hadn’t already with Jon uniting two of the Kingdoms while the Vale was becoming more and more taken by a new, more radical version the Faith and the Seven which promised trouble.

“With the new balance in Westeros,” Renly began, “I feel it would be beneficial for both of us to reconsider our relationship.”

“Aye,” Jon replied. “Although I am not sure how specific we can be with the current situation.”

Renly nodded with a serious expression. “I think this is obvious. Regardless of that, I – and many of my bannermen – fear that the moment we triumph over the Other, the entire Wall could turn into a bloodbath, to our disadvantage.”

Jon honestly didn’t hope that such a scenario would occur. Renly had graciously volunteered to follow the Night’s Watch’s call for help, with troops and supplies. There could be no conflict here.

“Be assured that I will not partake in any backstabbing,” Jon spoke. “On the lands of the neutral Watch no strife between humans shall exist. The Others are the true enemy for all.”

“The Seven shall punish all men as kinslayers who try to break the peace between us, for we are all kin in in these times,” Lord Baelor added in agreement.

Jon didn’t believe in the gods of the man who was one of the few of the Ironborn that had decided to make the journey northwards, but he approved of his message.

Renly smiled a bit now. “I believe your words, my honourable allies, but we would like to have lasting assurances if possible. Not one Other has been slain until now, so this war might not even end by spring, or even at the end of our generation.”

That was Jon’s concern as well. The Others originated from the Lands-of-Always-Winter, their civilization which Jon was sure existed was likely located too far north of the regions a human army could still travel to and fight.

“What would be your proposition?” Jon asked curiously. “I had thoughts about settling Lords along the Wall and on Brandon’s and the New Gift, but Lord Commander Mormont disagrees vehemently for reasons I cannot completely comprehend…”

“I propose a union of our Houses. My niece Shireen, the Crown Princess and Lady of Storm’s End, was betrothed to Prince Trystane Martell. With Dorne’s rebellion it obviously had to be broken. Your own cousin Rickon is only a few years younger than her. They would make a good match in my opinion.”

_Rickon… and the Crown Princess?_

It looked maybe pretty on first glance, but in Jon’s opinion this was an insult.

Rickon was his cousin in blood and had been his half-brother in mind for years. The Crown Princess was an attractive match on paper as well. The issues were however glaring.

First of all was Rickon’s age. The age disparity of over half a decade alone might have been acceptable, but the actual wedding could only take place when the boy was twelve at his earliest. That was still over five years away.

Additionally, Rickon was an obvious threat to Jon’s hold on the North and had to be held on a tight leash. He had originally intended to abdicate after the others were defeated, but with the current situation this didn’t seem like a pragmatic solution for years to come.

Shireen was also only Renly’s heir on paper, similar to his own Serra. It was doubtful that she would be widely accepted by the Lords and Ladies of the Stormkingdom, especially with Jon’s own Targaryen claim in the air.

Still, Shireen was the Lady of Storm’s End, and therefore destined to be a person with significant power in the future, assuming she would survive Renly’s fall relatively unscathed.

“Rickon is still too young to determine his future,” Jon gave his verdict after some consideration. “Lord Eddard was always unwilling to betroth his children, so it would be unhonourable to simply accept without some serious consideration. I am however willing to discuss this matter again when spring has fully arrived and Westeros has stabilized again, so we can all be sure where we are situated.”

Renly didn’t seem to unhappy with the answer he had gotten. The man had probably expected a refusal.

“Oh, well,” Renly spoke, “there are still other possibilities, to be discussed at another time hopefully.”

Any more discussion of ties by marriage or blood was unsuccessful. Jon did not wish to bind himself to Renly’s throne, so a betrothal of his sons and daughters was not an option for now.

Afterwards the talks concerned the war with the Others. The wights had tried to crack open the gate at the Nightfort with a charging mammoth, but the Westermen under Ser Daven Lannister had held the passage with the help of the near garrisons with acceptable casualties.

* * *

“Your Grace, a word?”

Jon recognized the speaker as Ser Garlan Tyrell, Mace Tyrell’s second son and an older brother of Queen Margaery and the present Ser Loras who had been seated to Renly’s right.

Ser Garlan the Gallant was similar in appearance to his younger brother with light brown hair and eyes, but he was taller, more broadly built, and had a beard. Jon knew him to be an exceptionally skilled swordsman.

Jon waved to his noble companions that he would be fine and then nodded to the Reachman. Dacey seemed reluctant to depart but didn’t dare to disobey her new King.

After they were alone, the spare of Highgarden simply offered a rolled-up paper with a small smile.

After unfurling it, Jon took in what was depicted in artistic slim strokes. A young pretty women in colourful dressed sitting in the vibrantly green grass. The resemblance to Queen Margaery in hair colour and facial features was hard to miss.

“Your cousin?”

He had almost asked why he had been given the picture, but the answer was rather obvious.

“Yes, Lady Elinor Tyrell. She is my sister’s lady-in-waiting at the Red Keep and the eldest niece of Lord Osmund Serry of Southshield.”

“And I assume you wish to offer her to me as mistresses?”

He received the expected confirmation through a slight nod. “She would also do as a wonderful handmaiden for Queen Asha if you do not wish to pursue her yourself. I have to say however that you shall deeply regret refusing her. Elinor is a true beauty of Highgarden, both of passion and class. How could any man not desire her?”

It wasn’t the first offer of this kind he had gotten, but all others had been denied politely. There was no need for much more women in his life. He obviously somewhat wanted every pretty maiden he could get his fingers on, but Jon did have some self-control in the end. There was no need for much more women to him except to satisfy his lusts.

Elinor would definitely do as bedwarmer, but so would countless other noble and common women who wouldn’t bring a similarly high risk of getting poisoned or strangled in his sleep.

“Does she have any special talents of use?”

Jeyne and Val actually worked in functions of importance by now which somewhat justified their position as Jon’s junior wives or mistresses. He didn’t want to have his women slacking around the Rock without a concrete purpose whenever he was moving around. A behaviour that was likely to not stop in the near future with the inheritance of the North and the various conflict herds across the continent and beyond.

“My cousin is educated in all matters one could expect from a noble maiden. I dare to say that there are few other Ladies in Westeros with a similar expertise of the court, something Casterly Rock still seems to lack,” Garlan replied sincerely. “We are even willing to send a wagon of grain to Lannisport as a sign of our hope for a peaceful cooperation.”

_Food is good._

Neither Asha, Val nor Jeyne also knew much or were interested in these aspects of society, and therefore a traditional royal court barely existed, if at all. In truth, there was not much ‘royal’ about Jon and his family except the majesty of the Rock as their new seat.

Maybe, the Tyrell would be able to change that for the better. If Jon wanted to consolidate his power, he needed to show himself as a rightful King with all the splendour associated with the title, and not just a noble with a crown on his head like Edmure Tully.

_There is no point in outright refusing the Tyrells._

“You can send her to Casterly Rock. Lady Elinor will be judged fairly. If deemed lacking, she shall be returned untouched,” Jon eventually spoke with a decisive tone.

Although there were many Tyrells around, it also wouldn’t hurt to have one of them in his own pocket for their knowledge of the most powerful noble House in Westeros since Aegon’s Conquest.

Jon wasn’t very confident in turning the maiden’s loyalties in his favour. Elinor had been offered him out of countless options for good reasons, her relationship to the Queen and allegiance to Highgarden being predictably the most important ones.

_It would be best if I give her really into Asha’s care for the start. She is rational enough to not provoke a scandal and isn’t easily tricked._

* * *

Their enemy had learned from their defeat at Eastwatch. The massive plain directly north of the gate of Castle Black was not occupied by a mass of wights.

Instead they sent a vanguard of slowly moving corpses forwards to fill the prepared deep holes and ditches with snow. Most had been covered lightly with dicky slim planks, so they wouldn’t be filled by the frequently occurring snowfalls.

The two thousand men on top of the wall had to watch helpless how the enemy advanced. Fire arrows were sadly useless, because they would generally be extinguished in the long flight to ground level. A few trebuchets fired continuously rocks, although their hit rate was abysmal.

The wights cleared out the way to the Gate systematically from several angles, so it was decided to open the gates and sent out a troop of archers, shield carriers and hard-hitting soldiers.

The strategy was effective at first, but after they had shot down everything they could see, the wights retreated and only continued their job in the night. Glowing blue eyes made still a good target for the marksmen, but it was clear to all that it would turn out to become a long melee battle at the gate.

After one week the first wight finally reached the entrance of the gate, with many others soon following it. The men at the top of the Wall began throwing wildfire caches and barrels of burning pitch in the area before the entrance of the tunnel.

They were slaughtered by a rotating mixed groups of black brothers, free men from all over Westeros who all held the tunnel together.

Jon and Renly participated like everyone else. Every group of defenders held their position at the front for three hours before getting replaced. Two other groups were always in reserve at the southern end of the Wall, where they had constructed an insurmountable defensive positions, made up from three gates of ironwood inside the tunnel, and another two outside with additional three metal portcullis. Similar, smaller defences had been built at the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch.

Although, they had dozens of dead of heavily injured at the beginning of the battle, after three days everyone got into a great rhythm. Problematic had become the rampaging greater wights, mostly being mammoths, giants, and great snow bears, so they had created a small special group of men that threw flaming spears at those.

They soon were forced to use only wooden arrows and spears out of a lack of metal. There had been concerns about oil, but the Faith of the Seven had begun to send food and supplies for battle as well. Many zealous men had made the journey northwards to fight ‘the enemy of mankind’, mostly from the eastern coast. Jon unfortunately wasn’t able to use them effectively, merely sending them to garrison the countless other keeps along the Wall.

* * *

“Your Grace!”

Jon rose from his hard bed of furs and looked to Lenn Pyke standing next to him sleepily. The boy had returned to be his personal servant after the loss of Westwatch where he had been in charge of the administration.

“What?”

“Others! Others are before the gate.”

The word immediately woke him up. Thankfully, he was already sleeping half-ready for battle.

_Isn’t it daytime?_

“Are they attacking?” Jon asked while fumbling with his “We have the dragonglass arrows and spear ready.”

“No, they just stand in the plain, as if they are waiting. No wights either.”

“My armour, quickly! Help me! And my fucking crown!”

They rushed quickly out of the tent and towards the tunnel. There was quite a tumult before the heavily fortified entrance, but Jon was able to pass through easily enough.

He marched until the other side and soon heard the Greatjon and his sone ordering everyone to stay calm and be patient.

“Lord Umber!” Jon called and the Northman quickly winked him forwards.

“No reason to panic yet, dragon seed,” the man yelled. “These milk boys are just sitting there on their _giant fucking ice spiders_.”

Jon had finally reached the front of the crowd and took in the sight himself. Five Others were visible around two hundred meters away on the corpse- and snow-covered ground between the gate he stood under and the Haunted Forest. Three of them were indeed riding on three meters high spiders with white fur, just like in Old Nan’s stories. The remaining two stood a few steps before them. Except for the spiders, there was no discernible movement.

Jon had already spotted a few Others riding on strange horses and those spiders through Blueberry’s eyes, so he was more intrigued then shocked by their appearance here.

_They are clearly waiting for something… no, someone._

By now, several well-known nobles and knights had made their way next to him, noticeably Ser Garlan Tyrell, Lord Tarly, and Dacey Mormont. Renly Baratheon and Lord Commander Mormont would surely arrive soon.

 _This is my chance to secure my place on the throne and in the legends_ , Jon suddenly realized.

“They clearly wish to treat with us. So, let’s meet them,” he proclaimed loudly and then pointed at the two Reachmen, and the Great- and Smalljon. “Everyone else stays here.”

He looked to the side and gestured to Harren the Hunter as well who had a dragonglass arrow and his bow already out in the open to accompany him before marching out of the tunnel in the direction of their enemies.

He was happy to note that after a few moments everyone he had pointed out was following him. Lenn had grabbed a banner depicting Jon’s redone personal coat-of-arms showing a white direwolf and the Targaryen dragon from somewhere and rushed after them.

The Others had obviously noted them because their group was slowly marching towards them, some pointing at them with their hand and spears.

In the end both ended up staring at each other while standing twenty meters away from each other, surrounded by charred corpses.

“What now?” The Smalljon whispered from his side. He didn’t sound as confident as usual.

Jon wasn’t quite sure either. He held up his hand, so his retinue didn’t follow him. It was important to show who was in charge, so he distanced himself from the men and one woman.

“I am Jon Stark, the Magnar of the lands behind this great ice wall,” he spoke in the Old Tongue. If these beings could understand any human language it would have to be this one.

One of the pair of Others with a milky and half-transparent spear on his back opened his mouth to let out a few cracking noises. Then the speaker walked towards Jon. The one next to him followed with a thin crystalline sword in hand. Both of their weapons glowed slightly blue under the sunlight as they moved completely in silence before stopping ten meters away from him.

A few crunching footsteps were heard, and suddenly Lord Tarly stood next to him with a grim expression, hand on the pommel of the ancestral greatsword of House Tarly, Heartsbane, made from Valyrian steel like Dark Sister at Jon’s left side.

“Two against two. Just in case.”

Jon wanted to thank him when the Other who seemingly was in command drew the spear from his back. It was clearly made from the same material as the Others’ armour and other weapons, possibly some sort of magical ice.

As reaction Jon and everyone else unsheathed their undrawn main weapons as well.

The sword wielding Other said something in their weird language towards his apparent leader. The two of them then exchanged ‘words’ with each other several times until the leader gazed at Jon with his cold blue eyes while stepping back.

The seemingly victor of his debate suddenly easily heaved up his long blade up and pointed with the tip directly at Jon himself. Then he laughed– at least Jon assumed that the high-pitched sound was laughter. The other didn’t actually smile or showed any recognizable expression.

“A challenge,” Lord Tarly exclaimed seriously. “Do you accept?”

“Is this a friendly spar or a duel to the death?” Jon voiced the question loudly, but no one could answer him.

_I don’t have a chance. I can’t back out now._

He stepped forward and nodded to the Reachman by his side who stepped back. By now Renly, Lord Commander Mormont, and a few other men.

“Do not interfere.”

Jon hopped a few times in place like a fool and swung his sword in circles to get his blood pumping. Then he took his usual stance and gestured towards his opponent that he was ready.

Not even a second later he was barely able to block the ice blade that had targeted his neck, bringing up Dark Sister just in time.

Instead of the sound of metal on metal only a high, thin sound, similar to an animal screaming in pain, was heard. A gust of extremely cold air hit Jon, surely stemming from the Other’s blade. The Valyrian steel of Dark Sister was even covered by a bit of frost now.

Jon successfully parried the next attack from his left, and the one after from his right, but was still forced to get some so he could predict the attacks better.

_He’s so fast._

The White Walker who Jon assumed to be a male was definitely one of the best opponents he had ever faced, easily comparable to Jaime Lannister. The fighting style was completely unknown and therefore especially dangerous. His opponent preferred fast combinations of one-handed strikes. The footwork was smooth, albeit rather slow.

_I really would like to have a shield now…_

Jon tried to lunge forward, but instead of back-pedalling the Other simply side-stepped and swung in a curve towards Jon’s face.

Explosive pain made Jon flinch, and only with gritted teeth could he jump away from the follow up strike from above.

_That could have killed me!_

He ignored the stinging in his cheek, and felt rage bubbling up inside of him. Jon didn’t understand what was happening. If the White Walkers wanted to negotiate, then why was this one trying to end him?

After focusing himself, Jon parried the next attack up in the air and moved towards his opponent. Dark Sister scratched the chest armour piece, made from the foreign ice-glass material, and left a long diagonal mark.

“Aaah!” Jon screamed from agonizing pain.

The Other’s crystal blade had gone through his left shoulder guard like silk towards his head. Fortunately, Jon was successfully able to lean away from the incoming blade on instinct. Only a bit skin on Jon’s shoulder was shaved off to reveal the red flesh underneath.

No blood was splattered for the wound was immediately cauterized by the incredible low temperature of the Other’s weapon. It actually helped Jon to continue mostly unimpeded after he had supressed his tears, although Jon felt his left arm stiffen more and more with time.

_I can’t continue like this._

Jon chose not to commit to an attack again for another minute, waiting for the right opportunity. Surrendering wasn’t an option that came to his mind.

Interestingly enough, his opponent seemed unwilling to completely block Jon’s strikes. He simply avoided them or deflected them lightly away from him. It was efficient swordsmanship, but Jon assumed that the Other also lacked the pure muscle power of a fit man like him. The race from the lands beyond the Frostfangs was built rather lanky and bony.

When he felt the first signs of soreness, Jon knew that he had to end the battle. He had moved much more than his opponent who wasn’t slowing down at all, let alone starting to waiver.

_I need to gamble on something he has never seen before._

Jon parried the Other’s blade in the air again, but this time he didn’t stab forward with a lunge. Instead he kept Dark Sister above his head and rushed forward to jump with his right foot targeting the Other’s midsection. The kick connected and his opponent was thrown a few meters away to the ground, his sword flying away to land a dozen meters away, so light was it apparently.

Before the being could get up again Jon had reached him and held Dark Sister next to his head, glazing in those blue eyes that had mocked him for so long with their inexpressiveness.

The clearly defeated held his gaze when he stood up before looking down at the blade that was pointed at where his heart would be if he was built like a human. For Jon it was just instinctually.

Suddenly, the Other’s hand snapped forward to grasp Jon’s own that was holding Dark Sister tightly. It happened so fast there was no time to react. One moment the Valyrian steel blade entered deeply into the Other’s chest through his armour, the next the sound of cracking ice beneath one's foot reached Jon’s ears. The Other's armour, flesh, and bones melted away like it was truly ice in a used smithy. Everything dissolving away until nothing remained.

_What? What happened?!_

Jon was shellshocked. Nothing he had ever seen came close to the destruction of his opponent who had clearly willingly stepped into his blade after his loss.

The language of the Other was heard behind him. The leader of the group was looking at him from the position he had gotten in before the duel had begun. His spear still in his right hand. After speaking whatever he said the Other came forward again.

The behaviour didn’t seem threatening, so Jon dragged himself to meet him as well. Renly had seemingly decided that he couldn’t just be a simple observer any longer and simply graced with him a nod when he reached his side.

The leader of the Others suddenly held up his spear and moved it in between the three just to point it slightly upwards, making Jon slightly wary.

“He is pointing at the Wall,” Renly spoke after turning around, clearly very confused.

Jon looked at the direction of the crystalline weapon’s tip and came to the same conclusion.

Then with a few incomprehensible words, the Other grabbed the shaft of his spear and turned it around. Then he shoved it into the snow-covered ground and moved it slowly before bringing the spear to his former position beside him again. His face expressionless as ever, although Jon felt that those blue eyes were boring itself into his mind.

“A line,” Renly stated simply in a fake light tone.

Jon looked at the perfect straight and felt he understood it immediately.

“A border. The Wall as a border between us and them.”

“Hmm, I don’t really feel like we have anything to complain with that. It has always been the border of civilized Westeros…”

“Aye,” Jon spoke and grabbed Dark Sister that was still in his hand tightly.

He held the Other’s stare and drew a line parallel to the given one on Renly and Jon’s side into the snow.

The foreign ‘diplomat’ made a few cracking noises again before he took a few steps backwards. He turned around soon after marched back to is three remaining companions, that had silently observed everything that had happened. When the leading Other passed them and exchanged some sounds with them, they followed him into the Haunted Forest.

Jon felt rather numb after the group had vanished between the trees. He walked away from Renly towards the side where the Other’s strange long sword still laid. For some reason it hadn’t been destroyed like the armour when the being died.

He kneeled down to grab it by its handle, only to pull back his fingers immediately from the unreal coldness of the magical ice it was made of.

“Your Grace, are you alight?!” It was Lenn who was the first by his side.

A few others soon surrounded Jon in a circle. The Greatjon pulled him up from the ground by his right shoulder. Jon had completely forgotten about the wound on his left one.

“Good job there, I guess,” the Lord of Last Hearth spoke loudly. “Couldn’t have down it better myself, Your Grace,” he added lamely

“Thank you, Lord Umber,” Jon responded.

He felt too exhausted to say some more words, and only wanted to meet with the present Maester that accompanied Renly before going back to his tent.

“Lenn,” he said to his servant, “take some layers of clothes and bring back that weapon. Don’t touch it directly or you will suffer frostburns.”

* * *

A war council had been formed in the Great Hall quickly, made out of the most powerful men at Castle Black, under them Jon, Renly, Ser Garlan, the Greatjon, a Most Devout who was named Septon Larton, and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.

Jon had his shoulders bandaged, although Renly’s Maester believed that his wounds wouldn’t hinder him in a few months. A pale horizontal scar now marred his left cheek, a proof of his ‘slaying’ of a White Walker for all to see. Just like the magical ice sword that was hidden inside a trunk in his tent.

“We should stay and hold the Wall,” Jon gave his opinion. “Our enemy has apparently given up and is willing to stay on their side of the Wall. The remaining wights are marching northwards again. I say we just remain here for a few more weeks, but I feel it’s over for now.”

“The cold takes twenty men for everyone we lose in the tunnel,” the Greatjon grumbled. “We need to send the vast majority of our troops back home now. They only take away our food. Two-thirds of our men should depart in my opinion.”

“Unacceptable!” Septon Larton exclaimed. “We need to wipe out these monsters from the Seven Hells completely!”

“And how should we do this?” Jon questioned coldly. “We can’t venture deeply into the Lands-beyond-the-Wall, until the winter is over. Then we can consider reclaiming the wilderness, although I doubt what we could achieve much of note except restocking our enemies’ numbers. We have never cared about the Lands-beyond-the-Wall, since millennia.”

“I agree with King Jon,” Renly said. “We should simply garrison every fort along the Wall with several hundred men, and more at the Shadow Tower, Castle Black and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. We could appoint second and third sons of noble Houses as able commanders.”

“The men would all have to take the vows of the Night’s Watch,” Lord Commander Mormont spoke with vehemence. “The Night’s Watch has defended the Wall since thousands of years, we shall not falter now.”

Jon agreed with him. It would be a nightmare for him to have armies loyal to his enemies directly at the undefended northern border of his Kingdom.

“Many men would be woe to give up so much for the rest of their lives,” Renly argued. “We have done well enough without any oaths.”

“We need true, dutiful men now. This is not a place for the soft and the weak-willed, never has been and never will.”

The Stormking was obviously not happy with the old Northman’s words remained silent.

“Many pious men wish to fight under the banner of the Seven Stars against the enemies of the Seven,” Septon Larton spoke up as a sole voice of disagreement and looked to Renly “The Faith Militant reborn… If His Grace were to allow the restoration of the ancient blessed orders of the Sword and Star, every godly man in the Seven Kingdoms would know him to be our true and rightful lord.”

“The Faith Militant was outlawed for a reason,” Renly replied to refuse the offer politely.

“These are the lands of the Old Gods, so I shall not condone an army under the High Septon here,” Jon spoke, receiving loud approval from the Greatjon and other present Northern Lords. “This is not a religious conflict between different faiths. No priest is needed to tell us who is our enemy. An enemy we have made peace with now. Except for me and my lands, everyone else in Westeros has withheld support for the Wall for centuries out of greed. We shall make sure that the Night’s Watch finds its old glory and might again, so it can be the shield of the realms of men they are supposed to be.”

The discussion went on for a bit until in the end an agreement was reached.

The Wall should be manned again by black brothers, made up from nobles, common men and criminals alike. Every men currently garrisoning the Wall was given the choice to take the vows.

The Westermen who had been sent by Jon here for seven years were given the same choice and were allowed to return back home if they wished. Considering the enemy, they had faced, no deep resentments against Jon himself existed from what he had observed. It was quite fortunate, for now the Westerlands received three thousand war-hardened soldiers.

The Faith was allowed to rebuild the ruined Hardhome at Storrold’s Point as a politically neutral outpost against the Others and wights. What they would do there was their own business.

Jon wasn’t too sure what to think about the decision. He somewhat hoped that maybe religious conflict between human followers of different deities could be avoided by giving the zealous believers of the Seven an alternative enemy.

He doubted that the Others could differentiate between human factions though. Breaking the surprising interracial peace with them seemed unnecessary to him.

Considering the strength of the Night’s Watch, he wasn’t too scared of the venture failing. It could even be a good thing from Jon’s perspective. Religious men were not known to give up easily, so vast amounts of resources and manpower that might have stood against him could be wasted over the coming years. Maybe it was even worth considering to actively sabotage the Faith’s efforts.

* * *

“My Queen, you missed much,” a smiling Jon greeted Asha in her dress-armour-get up that she seemingly now favoured inside his tent at Castle Black. All negations had ended some time ago, and Renly and his men had already departed for Eastwatch.

Jon wanted to remain at the Wall for another month or two to organize everything and make sure that their enemy wouldn’t come back. He had sent Blueberry to scout far beyond-the-Wall and spotted a few roaming bands of wights in the Haunted Forest. He even saw several Others on a massive stony hill near the Milkwater which he later identified with a map as ‘the Fist of the First Men’.

Many North- and Westermen had already left. Only the most northern Houses would remain at the Wall at full strength during the winter. The Greatjon had been named commander of all Northmen remaining at the Wall.

Surprisingly, Ser Daven Lannister and four hundred Westermen under him had asked to garrison the Nightfort until their sworn oath of service for seven years or until spring were fulfilled. The request had been approved without hesitation by Lord Commander Mormont and Jon who were both impressed by their sense of honour.

The Ironborn marched towards him and grabbed his chin tightly to take a close look at his always visible mark of victory.

“I like men with scars,” she said softly while moving a finger over the scar for a few moments before letting him go again.

“I know. You always made fun of me for not having any bigger ones.”

Asha slapped him hard on his unblemished cheek.

Jon winced and caressed the stinging side of the face. “Ouch! You know that I won, woman.”

“Do not ‘woman’ me,” she snapped. “I spoke with Lenn and a few other who saw the duel. You almost died. It was irresponsible and _wrong_.”

“Well, songs about me will be sung in the entire world for centuries. I am now a living hero! Jon the Ender! The true King, Defender of Westeros!”

Jon only avoided Asha’s second slap from connecting by grasping her moving arm.

“Did you one moment think about me, Serra and Quellon?”

_Not really…_

He had been focused on the battle and staying alive, and not horrific what-if-scenarios without him. There was nothing to regret though.

“I don’t really think your one in the position to complain to be honest,” Jon spoke while pulling the struggling Asha against his chest for an embrace. “There is no need for you to be even here. Just stay at the Rock if you are so scared about battle. This won’t be the last war we have experience.”

“My life is unimportant compared to yours. I am replaceable.”

Jon pressed his lips sloppily against her forehead.

“Not for me. I would always sacrifice myself for you, and I am sure you would the same for me.”

* * *

“I am still angry with you,” Asha said while dozing on his naked chest.

“The way you jumped me…”

“Shut up. I was just happy that my husband and King is still alive – against all odds.”

“Those are our words!”

Jon’s loud laughter earned him another punch to the right shoulder. The other one was flaring painfully currently, but he hadn’t wished to temper Asha’s newfound enthusiasm, so he remained silent about that.

“I have to depart to Winterfell and see if everything is working out there. Will you come with me? You are the Queen in the North after all.”

“Nah,” Asha denied his offer. “I will return home again. I can’t stand this weather anymore, and we have been gone for almost a year. The children might not even recognize our faces…”

“Serra is almost three by now. I am sure she is fine. And I can’t believe that Quellon could forget his mother so quickly.”

That their son had forgotten his father in contrast seemed to be a realistic possibility, however.

 _Is this my burden? Countless children, but we can never see each other_ , Jon mused.

He didn’t like spending so much time on traveling around, but he also knew that it was necessary. Everything he did to grow his power would in the end also benefit his descendants.

“I heard the Queen Dowager in the North is a pretty thing as well. If you want to bring her to the Rock, she has to be.”

“Are you having people spy on me?” Jon said with surprise.

“You didn’t deny it,” Asha answered, not refusing his accusation herself.

_It has to be one of my guards, maybe even several of them._

“Do what you can’t resist. Fucking your dead cousin’s wife isn’t the best thing you could do. If you put a child inside her belly it will forever carry that issue around.”

“You don’t seem to be disinclined to me being with another woman for some reason? If you don’t want me to stray, I won’t…”

“She’s a Frey without allies, a widow at that. I am not scared for her.”

He had heard the same opinion about Val and Jeyne, but that had been in a different time.

Apparently, Asha had noticed his doubts about her response, so she elaborated. “As long as I feel that you know who your true wife and Queen is, I won’t be an obstacle to your trysts. But if I get the opinion that you don’t appreciate me anymore, or that those wenches and their spawn don’t understand their place…”

“Got it. I will be careful. Moontea and all that stuff as well.”

He didn’t wish to dream of murder in his family. Asha wasn't a child slayer of course, but the point had been made and understood.

Seeing that now was possibly a good time, Jon gently moved some hair tangles out of Asha’s face before breaching the next topic. “By the way, a Tyrell maiden will join _our court_ at Casterly Rock in the near future. You can deal with her how you see fit. I didn’t refuse because we get some food in return. Elinor is her name.”

Asha got up to sit upon stomach, covered with a few grey and brown furs.

“What is her goal?” She inquired with an interested stare. “Except your bed of course.”

“I am not completely sure,” Jon replied truthfully. “Public spies, court intrigue… That’s upon you to find out and handle. She is one of Queen Margaery’s ladies-in-waiting, cousins, and best friends from what I have found out. Elinor’s betrothed was the heir of House Ambrose of Whitegrove, until he got killed in the Kingswood by a Lannister man. Maybe she was dishonoured?”

“Alright, I will look on her fingers when she arrives. When will you return to the Rock?”

“With my Targaryen parentage in the open, I might make a discreet visit to Driftmark and other holdfasts from Targaryen loyalists at the eastern coast. Lord Velaryon send me word that he will back me against Renly. I might take in our position on the Stepstones as well.”

“Hmmm, you could make a visit to Sunspear then. Maybe you could win Princess Arianne over for some help,” Asha suggested before moving a bit backwards him and grabbing his cock. “She is known to be rather promiscuous, so I feel you have a good chance.”

* * *

Jon departed for Winterfell with half of the guard of Winterfell that he had taken with him. Asha would have been appreciated as a companion, but she had already left for Casterly Rock a month ago as intended after only a few shared days and nights.

Roslin Frey, Rickon, Arya and Lady Catelyn awaited him in the snow-filled courtyard of Winterfell. The former three very happy about his return.

They moved into the solar that he had occupied shortly before, in the past it had been Lord Eddard’s and then Robb’s.

“Did you really kill an Other?” Arya asked excitedly while jumping around. “We heard you defeated their leader and singlehandedly make them flee!”

“It was a duel, and not their leader. And the White Walkers didn’t flee. They simply accepted that they weren’t able to cross the Wall and decided to take what they got.”

“How do they look?”

“Like humans made from ice and snow, glowing white in the dark. Very scary…”

“I am going to slay one too!” Rickon exclaimed. “Then I will become a true hero like you, Jon.”

“Me too!”

“No, you won’t!” The ideas of her children obviously weren’t appreciated by Lady Catelyn.

“What are the White Walkers’ goals?” Roslin asked curiously while filling a goblet with wine before Jon when they had seated themselves in a smaller chamber, usually use for dining in private.

“Nobody knows, maybe they just wanted more land for themselves. They are obviously intelligent, so acting like human folks wouldn’t be too strange. I have complete confidence in the Night’s Watch to hold the Wall and protect us though, assuming that the Other decide to break our simple peace agreement.”

“Enough of the White Walkers,” Lady Catelyn interrupted the conversation. “We need to talk about future of the North.”

Jon nodded. “Aye, let’s start with food. Do we have enough?”

“Only for another two years, we sent quite a lot up the King’s Road. We could maybe hold out for three years if we start rationing.”

“Then we do that. I will try to send shipments with food northwards from the Westerlands. I will contact some associates from Braavos and Pentos for further goods too.”

“Food is one thing, but we still have to talk about the inheritance situation,” Lady Catelyn said gravely. “When can we expect your abdication? The Wall is secured, those are your own words.”

Even though Jon knew that this conversation would be happening, he had still dreaded it. Jon had never wanted to steal his cousin’s crown, but now that he had it, he was not very willing to give it up again. Especially now that his hold on the North was stronger than he could have ever dreamed of.

“I was elected to defend the Wall against the Others and lead the North through the winter, however long it will last,” Jon answered in the end diplomatically. “Spring could still be far away.”

“Rickon is the rightful King. He is my Ned’s only remaining son…”

“That’s not true,” Jon quickly spoke before the noblewoman started crying. “We received news from Bran a few months ago at Castle Black.”

“Bran?”

“Aye, you can ask Benjen for confirmation. The messenger told us both that Bran was alive and did what we he wanted to do. We both believed the messenger’s words.”

If Bran was still alive after the Others had reached the Wall was questionable, but Jon didn’t voice his doubts. Leaf had certainly not been very optimistic about her own people’s future.

“Oh…”

Then Lady Catelyn started sobbing regardless. Rickon and Arya stood both up with confused expression to console their mother.

“Rickon is the Lord of Moat Cailin,” Jon continued to speak. “We can look in the future what to do with Winterfell. Arya?”

The girl of almost three and ten in question loosened herself from Lady Catelyn and looked towards him.

“Jon?”

“You are old enough now to be in charge of the castle as long as I am gone, assuming that Rickon travels to Moat Cailin by spring before I return.”

“Me? I don’t want that.”

Jon had expected the reaction, but it was time that she would grow up a little. He was now responsible for Arya’s future as the head of House Stark.

“You are a Princess, so this is your duty. I expect that your mother has educated you well and will assist you. Roslin will stay here for some time as well.”

Obviously, Lady Catelyn would do most of the work, but that wasn’t important. Arya was loyal towards him without doubt, so she was a good option to be nominally in charge and have the last words if her mother tried to crown Rickon.

Roslin was originally supposed to come with him to Casterly Rock but letting her stay at least until spring seemed to be the better decision for now. The widowed Frey was competent and currently without purpose. Jon would bind her to himself and put her to work instead of letting her willow away.

Through their time at the Wall, Jon was rather assured that he had proven himself to be a competent ruler towards many of the Northern bannermen.

“I don’t want to rule a castle though!” Arya exclaimed.

“I received quite a few betrothal agreements for you, you know,” Jon said with a widening smile. “How do you feel about marrying Lord Bolton? He is unwed and without heir.”

Arya was completely shocked. “You are blackmailing me, stupid! If you marry me off, I will forever hate you.”

Jon couldn’t supress a small laugh. “There always has to be a Stark in Winterfell. Do you want to break a tradition that has lasted thousands of years?”

His favourite cousin was obviously still angry, but she shook her head a bit.

“Good. If Winterfell still stands by the time you are of age, you are allowed to make your own decisions. How does this sound?”

Arya’s expression noticeably brightened. “So, I don’t have to marry some stupid Lord anymore and give him babies?! Great!”

“You can even become a sellsword or a pirate, whatever you wish.”

“I will do it! I am not going to disappoint you, I promise, Jon. I am going to be the greatest adventurer ever born in Westeros!”

_Hopefully not._

Jon partially wished that her new responsibilities would make his cousin outgrow her rather childish ideas. It wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but it would keep her alive, and possibly even useful to boot.

“This is preposterous!” Lady Catelyn had obviously her emotions under control again. “Rickon should be Lord of Winterfell. No! He _is_ the Lord of Winterfell. You may have usurped the crown from your cousin, but Winterfell itself still falls to Rickon.”

Jon had however already thought this through. “Winterfell is the seat of the King of Winter and the North since Brandon the Builder. Now, I cannot remain here and have to return to the Rock, but the point still stands. Rickon has been appointed as the Lord of Moat Cailin and no one can take the castle away from him and his descendants. I will pay for the reconstruction of the castle myself after winter ends, so it shall be worthy of a true Stark. From now on, Rickon is the head of the new cadet branch of House Stark, the Starks of Moat Cailin with all normal duties and liberties associated.”

Lady Catelyn looked like she was about to start screaming, but she was possibly too exhausted by the news about Bran. Maybe she also saw the political reality.

“My brother Edmure will not accept that,” she argued.

“Edmure can’t even keep his own Kingdom secure. He will have a whole lot of issues to care about when the snow starts to melt.”

Suddenly, Jon remembered something that was better revealed on his own terms.

“I would also like to mention now that King Renly proposed a betrothal between Rickon and his niece, the Crown Princess Shireen Baratheon, Lady of Storm’s End.”

“That’s a great match,” Lady Catelyn replied immediately.

“I refused.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Renly is our enemy, and not a potential ally. I also do not believe that Rickon would like to be a consort in the south. Additionally, Moat Cailin and Storm’s End are too far away from each other.”

That his male cousin was an obvious rival claimant to Jon wasn’t voiced but still obvious to the adults in the room.

“I do not want to marry! Just like Arya!” Rickon cheered loudly and went on to hug his older sister awkwardly.

His mother frowned but stayed silent. In the end, Jon was in power.

* * *

“Your Grace, you summoned me,” Roslin spoke demurely after entering Jon’s bedchamber on his allowance.

Jon mustered her form in her grey wool dress from his place on the small desk in the chamber.

“Aye, Roslin. Do you know what happened at the Twins?”

The Queen Dowager nodded unhappily. “King Edmure Tully stormed the Twins after a longer siege and then executed my grand-nephew called Black Walder and a few others of my kin for kinslaying. I am sure that they were guilty, definitely Black Walder who’s a terrible man. The new Lord of the Twins is Ser Walton Frey.”

That was also mostly what Jon had heard.

“What do you know about Lord Walton? You also don’t have to stand. Just seat yourself on the bed.”

“Ser Walton was actually very high in the line of succession as the third son of my father’s firstborn Ser Stevron. He is married to Lady Daena Hardyng who is the aunt to King Harrold Arryn, a Hardyng himself. He apparently backed Walton’s claim with gold, food, and swords. Ser Walton had three children when I departed north, maybe more by now…”

“And Lord Walton’s character?”

“He is not the nicest man, but better than most my family from what I remember,” Roslin said with a sheepish smile. “He is dour, blunt and brusque, and has a reputation for being a soldier with iron loyalty. A warrior who follows orders without question.”

“A puppet then,” Jon spoke. “Whose? Harrold’s?”

“I don’t know. I am sorry for my ignorance, Your Grace.”

He just waved off. “What would you suggest I do?” Jon asked after a moment of silence.

“You could consult with the Twins,” Roslin responded. “I know what happened wasn’t pretty and I mourn a few of my relatives, but it was also inevitable… Lord Walton might be open towards a trade agreement that could benefit both Winterfell and Moat Cailin. He is an honest and dependable man in my opinion, as rare as it sounds among my kin.”

Jon graced her with a sincere smile. “Alright, I will remember that.”

“Anything else, Your Grace?”

“Aye, which Houses in the Riverlands are most likely to pledge for me because I am Targaryen?”

Roslin looked surprised about his forward question before making a thoughtful face.

“The biggest Targaryen loyalists are obviously House Darry, everyone knows that. Lord Darry’s older three brothers died at the Ruby Ford. My niece Amy told us that they still have picture of the Targaryen Kings hidden in their basement.”

Jon simply nodded and gestured her to continue.

“Well, House Goodbrook initially also stayed loyal to the Targaryens, at least until Lord Hoster burned down two of their villages. Lord Lymond Goodbrook’s uncle Garse is married to one of my older nieces, Kyra. I could try asking her for more information…”

“Good idea, anyone else?”

“House Ryger of Willow Wood refused Lord Hosters’s call initially as well, but I do not believe that you will have much success with them now. Edmure is good friends with the heir Tristan. House Mooton of Maidenpool is probably your only remaining good chance. They are the most eastern House of note from the Kingdom of the Trident, and very wealthy. The only reason Lord Mooton didn’t swear allegiance to King Renly was because his brother Ser Myles slain by Robert Baratheon at Stoney Sept during the Battle of the Bells. He was your father’s friend and former squire too…”

_Huh, that’s interesting to know._

Roslin had apparently finished, so Jon looked down at the map of the Riverlands beside him.

Castle Darry laid at the King’s Road and close to the Trident. From what he heard by now, House Darry seemed to be fierce Targaryen loyalists to this day.

_They are so obviously ready jump to my side, I can’t publicly associate myself with them in any way, shape, or form._

Otherwise, Edmure would immediately call for the banners, and Renly soon after likely as well.

House Goodbrook was situated far inland between Acorn Hall and the God’s Eye, near the southern border to the Stormkingdom. It would be a boon to control their troops for a war against either Renly or Edmure. Sadly, they lacked significant power.

Maidenpool was located strategically important at the southern coast of the Bay of Crabs which connected the Trident to the Narrow Sea. If they were able to connect the Tarbeck and the Tumblestone, House Mooton would be one of the greatest beneficiaries.

_Maybe I should visit Maidenpool discretely…_

Jon was pulled out of his thoughts by nervous shuffling from Roslin’s direction. He looked questioningly at the blushing woman with her legs pressed together.

“Your Grace…”

“Yes?”

“You haven’t call me into your personal chamber so late to discuss my family and the Riverlords. We could have done all this tomorrow.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I have received countless gazes similar to yours over the years at the Twins from my cousins, uncles and nephews, Your Grace. You also have a reputation…”

_A reputation?_

Jon didn’t sleep around much in contrast to many other noblemen. He simply stood to his deeds honourably.

“I am Queen Dowager, the widow to your cousin and predecessor. It wouldn’t be proper, and surely a grand scandal for years to come, Your Grace.”

Jon smirked at her and walked towards the bed. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself, _Queen Dowager_. Don’t tell me you want to live out the rest of your long live alone because of a senseless ceremony with a dead man who you barely knew.”

Roslin backed away into the centre of the bed with closed eyes while shaking her head.

Jon ignored her antics and simply undressed slowly in front of her. When he had divested himself of his shirt, he could see Roslin silently looking at his now bare chest.

“Take off your clothes. If you are conflicted, then take it as a royal order.”

The woman looked uncertain for a few seconds before she began with pulling her plain dree over her head.

Jon was already next to her when she was finished. Now they were both naked, although Roslin was slightly shivering, more from nerves than the temperatures.

He moved his right hand on her left knee and the slowly up her thigh. After a while he had reached Roslin’s womanhood, unsurprisingly quite wet already.

“Hm, you are literally dripping, Roslin. Do you want my misguided cock so badly?”

“It…it’s not like that,” she weakly protested when he started to play around with his fingers.

“We both know that’s a lie.”

Jon wasn’t much into foreplay, but it was more enough for the inexperienced widow in front and below of him. Roslin started to moan and louder and louder. When she started to thrust upwards Jon decided that it was enough.

“Are you going to spread your legs for King… or do I have to force myself on you?”

He hadn’t even finished the latter part of the sentence when Roslin had barred herself to him with an unimpressive glare.

“Please stop! Just take me now, Your Grace. I am willing and so are you. Even if what we do is wrong…”

Before the Frey started to changer her opinion, Jon had already entered her, getting a loud yelp.

Roslin turned out to be the exact type of soft and innocent young woman that he missed a bit with Jeyne’s eagerness to please him in bed. Her gentle moans and praising exclamations, some comparing him in positive light to Robb, got Jon’s blood really pumping.

Jon just knew that this wouldn’t be their last night together and hoped for countless more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some might disagree with how I dealt with the Others, but I always considered the trope of killing the Night King to end all the Others and the wights absolutely stupid. The idea of using dragons as the ultimate weapon is also way overdone imo. The First Men didn't have dragons either in my headcanon.
> 
> Regardless of their origin, the Others seem to be their own sentient and civilized race, with language, clothing etc.
> 
> It is almost disturbing how actual genocide is such a prevalent and accepted method to end the Long Night plot in this fandom, even among writers who try to only built upon the book canon. (Ironic considering how many people seem to loath crimes like genocide of human people in ASOIAF fics, like the Ironborn and Dothraki.)  
> Not only is it very lazy, but also very unrealistic in my opinion. If you just kill off the entire race you might not have them appear at all.
> 
> In my original draft I actually wanted to have Jon wed a White Walker bride and include them further.  
> Currently, I don't plan to write much more on them. I think here applies "less is more". I have left open a few plot threads for further conflict though, so we will see what will happen. The Others as a new and different sentient race on the other side of the Wall opens a lot of possibilities for the near and far future. It's actually an interesting concept that generally doesn't get explored much in fiction outside of sci-fi.
> 
> Roslin Frey becoming Jon's mistress might have been a mistake on my part. She is more of a plot device than a character currently though. I don't think she will be very relevant in the future. I said the same thing about Jeyne Westerling however too, so don't take this as gospel.
> 
> Some might complain that their sex is a bit "rapey", but I actually feel that with Jon's station it almost has to be that way. Especially because Roslin is completely dependant on Jon's goodwill currently.  
> Because it's Jon's POV this wasn't really emphasized but she didn't really have a choice when he decided to go after her. If Roslin denies Jon and he takes it badly she might end up on the street or in a brothel. It's a "realistic" outcome in her mind considering his dubious reputation.


End file.
